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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26384260">At Moss Cottage</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenpuffLove/pseuds/RavenpuffLove'>RavenpuffLove</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BDSM, Chubby Neville Longbottom, Cottagecore, Dom Neville Longbottom, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, HEA, Hermione Granger Has Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Luna Lovegood is a Good Friend, Muggle-born Culture, Nevmione is endgame, Not all loves last forever, Slow Burn, Sub Hermione Granger, Theo is a Little Shit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:00:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,634</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26384260</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenpuffLove/pseuds/RavenpuffLove</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville and Hermione are roommates. They live in a cottage. Life happens. Hearts get broken. Jobs get done. Films get watched. </p><p>Oh, they also fall in love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>110</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fuck Your Gender Roles</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/granger_danger/gifts">granger_danger</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a birthday gift for the wonderful granger_danger! Friend I am so glad you ended up being my beta for DBQ. You are one of my favorite fandom friends and this fic is a direct result of that conversation we had about How I Met Your Mother. I hope that you enjoy it and so sorry I couldn't get it all uploaded in time. </p><p>This was supposed to be a one shot and it got away from me because I pantsed instead of planning. I've got about 20k written and I think it might end up being 30kish! I promise I'm not abandoning it, but the upload schedule will be sporadic! lol</p><p>Thank you so much to persephone_stone for betaing! You're a champ and I appreciate you putting up with my inability to self edit. </p><p>JK owns it, not me, but even thought she's made billions she's also a terfy sack of shit so I think I come out ahead in the end.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>August 7, 2003</b>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Neville sometimes thought that </span>
  <em>
    <span>afraid</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the thing he had felt most in his life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he'd been a kid it had been fear of all the tests that his Uncle Algie would put him through to try and prove he wasn't a Squib, and of course the fear that he actually might be. He couldn't forget the fear of the Dark Arts, and what they could do to a person, not just what they had done to his mother and father, but whatever they had done to the people responsible for their condition. He imagined it must be terrible, whatever the Dark Arts did to the people who practiced them. It had to be to warp people into monsters who could </span>
  <em>
    <span>do that </span>
  </em>
  <span>to somebody. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He'd hoped that learning to control magic, to defend himself, would make him less afraid, but Hogwarts had proved that hope entirely wrong. It seemed like he'd been scared for every second of his seven years there: scared that he would die, scared that he would accidentally hurt someone else, but most of all, scared that nothing he could do would matter. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Luckily, he had allayed that last fear. No one could deny that he'd done his part in the war. The Order of Merlin, first class that he kept tucked away in the upper lefthand drawer of his desk proved that well enough. But even helping to put an end to the rising tide of war hadn't alleviated his fear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been five years since the war and he was still plagued by nightmares. Every night, without fail, his dreams would be filled with the thick feel of dust coating his throat, with the deafening sounds of the stones of the castle being blasted to pieces around him, with the overwhelming stench of burning flesh and spilled blood. On the worst nights, it would be nothing but the sizzle of his nerves under the Cruciatus, waking him in the throes of an aftershock that would never seem to end.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>During the day, he was fine at Hogwarts. Seeing his students happy and safe was soothing. The castle actually made him feel safe, paradoxically. Neville knew the ins and outs of the castle as well as anyone who had ever lived there, and more than that, he understood the nuances of how the building worked. According to Luna the castle understood him too. It was hard not to believe it though, when the staircases rearranged their schedules to get him out of the sixth floor corridor, where a memory of a particularly bad run-in with the Carrows occasionally triggered a Cruciatus aftershock. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>No matter his skepticism, the castle did seem to work in his favor, so Neville knew he had nothing to fear within the walls of Hogwarts. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He just couldn't seem to convince his mind of that when he was sleeping. The dreams were becoming too much. They ate into his sleep and left him short-tempered and snappish with his students. The only time he seemed to get any relief was the summer, when he traveled and slept away from the castle. He still worked the gardens and used the library when necessary, but he never had to patrol the halls at night, nor rest within the walls of the castle. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The solution had become fairly clear to him over the last year while working with a mind healer: He couldn't keep living at Hogwarts. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Neville now had a new fear (that was somehow also a very old fear): disappointing Minerva McGonagall.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Come in, come in, Neville!” she said, ushering him into her office just a few short weeks before the start of term. “I was worried that you wouldn't make it in for a meeting until next week! I should have known you would be back before then; you never leave the plants for long, even though Pomona has told you over and over she's happy to see to them in the summer so you can take a longer holiday.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I wouldn't enjoy it, Headmistress. You know me: I'd rather be puttering in the greenhouse than just about anywhere else.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I also know that you enjoy your visits to Ms. Lovegood,” McGonagall said, smiling kindly at him. “And please, Neville,  call me Minerva. You've been a professor for two years now and I don't know how many times I have to tell you I'm no longer your Headmistress.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neville ignored her insistence that he call her Minerva yet again. She had earned that title and he'd keep using it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do enjoy visiting Luna normally, but she's off in the forests of Siberia until September, when her spot opens at Castelobruxo. Even in the summer, it's awfully cold there.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well, I don't blame you for hurrying home then. It's been a perfect summer for gardening.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It has.” He had, in fact, spent every possible second for the past several days with his hands in the dirt. “But I actually came home early because I need to talk to you about something.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The Headmistress’s face pinched, her jaw barely moving as she said “This sounds like a conversation that calls for tea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neville waited patiently while she summoned the little metal cart that held her tartan patterned tea service. The design picked up the colors of her office perfectly, hunter green with deep blue, black, and threads of gold. Neville didn't have much experience with the office before Professor McGonagall’s time as Headmistress, but he liked how much she seemed to have set the room up to reflect the tea service. She had never let him leave her office without taking a cuppa and he couldn't help but think that was by design. She wanted anyone in her office to feel invited in, comforted, even if they were being disciplined. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“So what did you need to discuss with me?” she asked once she had handed him a perfectly made cup of tea and sat back down on her side of her wide desk. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I need to request a medical accommodation.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Neville.” She placed her soft, gnarled hand over his, her face blanched with worry. “Are you alright?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I'm okay. Not in immediate danger or anything like that,” he assured her, cursing himself inwardly for worrying her unnecessarily. “The truth is that I am having a rather difficult time sleeping, which sounds minor when I've got unlimited access to Dreamless Sleep from the Hospital Wing, but I am afraid of dependency on the potion. I already see the way lack of sleep impacts my mood and interactions with my students.” It made him snappish and short-tempered in a way that reminded him far too much of Professor Snape. “I will have to quit my job if things don't change. I really don't want to do that. I love my work.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>There wasn’t a moment of hesitation before she said “What can I do to help?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I need to live off the grounds. I can floo into Hogsmeade every day and walk up. That will also mean I’ll need to step back from evening patrols. I won’t be able to eat breakfast or dinner with the rest of the school either, though I will still be here for lunch.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Done,” she said, staring deep into her tea cup where it sat in her lap. “Though I won't be able to keep you on as Head of Gryffindor house, Neville.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I understand.” And Neville did. He couldn't complete a Head of House's duties while living off the grounds. “I know you don't have another Gryffindor on the regular staff, but Parvati should be through her apprenticeship and ready to take over Divination within the year. I could help with the duties that aren't after hours while she's finishing up.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That sounds manageable,” Minerva replied, sounding relieved that he'd thought through that particular hurdle before giving her the news. “I am glad that you asked, Neville. I would have been disappointed if you just gave up. You're too good a Professor to lose for a silly reason like wanting to live away from the castle.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Thank you for understanding Head</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>” he stopped himself, just this once. “Minerva.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, where are you going to live?” she asked, pouring them both a second cup of tea. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I'm not entirely sure.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>August 21, 2003</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can't believe you left Ron! You two seemed so perfect together.” Hannah shook her head, pushing a butterbeer refill across the bar to where Hermione sat, nibbling on the last bites of her lunch.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Hermione couldn't believe she was having to have this conversation with yet another person. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I didn't leave him. We decided that things weren't working. It ended amicably.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“But didn't you just say that it was because you didn't want kids right away?” Hannah asked.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>There it was. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>No one could believe it had been an amicable split when the final straw was that they had disagreed about children. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> always put it the same way, that it had been about her </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanting kids. It was never about him </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanting </span>
  </em>
  <span>kids, despite her being very clear about it from the beginning. As if Hermione would have ever jumped into a relationship without making sure they understood from the start that </span>
  <em>
    <span>if </span>
  </em>
  <span>she ever had children, it wouldn't be until she was older. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Hermione had expected that reaction from the rest of the Weasleys, or even Harry. He and Ginny had been trying for years, so of course he assumed that her feelings were the deal breaker. Not wanting children didn't make sense to him. But it seemed that no matter who Hermione tried to talk out the end of her relationship with, they reacted the same way: they thought it must have been her fault the relationship didn’t work out.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She'd really thought that she'd had some chance of better understanding with Hannah. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The other witch had worked hard to re-establish the Leaky Cauldron after taking it over after the war. Hermione knew that it had affected her romantic relationships. They'd had several conversations about the different wizards that she'd tried to make a go of things with, but who never seemed to understand her priorities. But it seemed that things were different to Hannah when it came to Hermione's relationship—and Hermione was simply too tired to try and debate it with her. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh! look at the time,” Hermione exclaimed, hoping that looking dramatically at her wristwatch wasn't too much. “I've got to get going.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Really? So soon?” Hannah asked, looking a little dejected as she started to levitate Hermione's dishes over to the sink. “Usually you stay for a bit after you finish lunch on Sundays, and you haven't been by in ages! It's my slow day, I was looking forward to a chat.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Hermione felt a pang of guilt at that, but not enough of one to stay and have the same uncomfortable conversation about her and Ron's breakup that she'd been having for the last month. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Really.” She fidgeted with the strap of her cross-body bag and fudged the truth. “Neville's asked me to come help set some wards at his new place.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Tell him I said hi, and that I expect to see him a little more often now that he isn't hiding out in the castle all year long.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I'll give him the message.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neville </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>asked Hermione to meet him at his new place to help place some enchantments, but he wasn't expecting her for several more hours. She had fully intended to spend most of that time having a nice chat with Hannah, so now that she'd bailed on that she had quite a lot of time to fill before she had to floo over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a stroke of luck that Flourish and Blotts was a few brick taps away. Hermione was through the front door of the shop and buried in the stacks less than five minutes after walking out of the pub. She had so much less time for reading than she liked since she started working at the Ministry, but it didn't stop her from buying. She was of the opinion that buying books and reading them were two entirely separate hobbies. Besides, she was finding that since she and Ron had called it quits she had more time for reading than she'd thought.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>No more weekend Quidditch matches meant she could spend at least one of her days off at home. No one complained if she spent her mealtimes with a book propped on the table or if she stayed up later than she should finishing up an interesting read. She'd read more in the last month than she had in the last six. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The truth was she kept waiting to miss being with Ron. Of course she'd grieved the end of their romance; it had been five years of her life, and more like seven if they were being honest about when it all started. It had just felt like their breakup was a long time coming. They'd spent more time fighting in the last two years than they'd spent happy. By the time they called it quits, not even Ron could be angry. He'd looked as relieved as Hermione felt when she'd told him she was moving out. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>But still, he had been a part of every important moment of her life for more than a decade. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Now she only saw him at Weasley family dinner every other weekend, and once when she'd met up with him and Harry for lunch. It hadn't been awkward to see him, and Hermione was incredibly grateful that it seemed their friendship would survive the end of their relationship, but she still felt like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every morning she woke up expecting to feel empty, but so far she'd mostly just felt annoyed at the cramped and depressing muggle flat she'd had to rent. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The lack of space in her flat was the real sticking point when it came to purchasing more books. It was so small that the only shelves she could manage were two long lines near the ceiling that circled the entirety of the small studio. It wasn't even enough to hold her current library. She'd taken to keeping the rest of her books in her little beaded bag, which she still took everywhere with her, slung comfortably across her body. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>So she meandered through the stacks before settling into the herbology section and looked for a housewarming gift for Neville. If she was quick about it, she could rush home and read it before she gave it to him.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <b><br/>
</b>
  <span>Neville smiled to himself when he heard the </span>
  <em>
    <span>whoosh</span>
  </em>
  <span> of someone coming through his floo at five thirty. He had told Hermione to come by around six, but he'd known she would be early. He had been so sure of it he had just flooed back in with carry-out curry. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You're early.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I know, I know,” Hermione said as she shook the soot off of her and stepped out of the hearth. “I just finished up what I was reading and figured that you wouldn't mind me coming by sooner.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Of course not. I expected you would, if I'm being honest.” Hermione was always early to everything, and she had been as long as Neville had known her. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I always leave myself longer to get ready than I need because I'm worried about being late, then I get bored.” Hermione admitted with a laugh. “I try to stave it off by having something to read but then I run out and I don't want to start something new when I've only got thirty minutes and it will take me half of that just to pick something.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I should have known you being chronically early would have something to do with books,” he teased. “Do you want to get right to it or should we have dinner?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Let's do the spellwork first. I had a late lunch at the Leaky.” She pulled her wand out from up her sleeve. “Hannah says she expects you to come by more often now that you aren't eating all your meals in the Great Hall, by the way.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I'm looking forward to it.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I'm sure that's one of the many perks, but it's hard for me to imagine giving up living at the castle voluntarily.” Her eyes widened as something over Neville's shoulder caught her attention. “Though I could be convinced!” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She stepped past him and into the wide open space of the living area. The eat-in kitchen opened up into a cozy but fairly spacious sitting room. The place wasn't decorated yet, and he had actually planned to asked for Hermione's opinions on paint colors while she was here, but she didn't seem to notice that it didn't have enough furniture, or that the only decoration was an over exuberant devil's ivy that he'd helped trail along the exposed brick of the far wall. Her attention was turned solely to the huge window that dominated the room, a split arch filled with glass panes that scattered the late afternoon sunlight across the room. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“This is a gorgeous space, Neville.”  </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Thanks.” His ears felt hot at the genuine awe in her voice. “When I saw the window I knew it was perfect—lots of light for my plants. I'm also putting together a garden and a greenhouse, but I like having some inside. It feels empty without them.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Is it muggle-built?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah, everything magic is in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade.” Two places with notoriously little garden space. “There's just not much else that isn't family homes.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You never said why you decided not to move into Longbottom Hall.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Neville knew that would be the question on everyone's minds now that he had left the castle. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Watching the way the old pureblood manors got dismantled after the war made me realize how much they had, how much they'd been hoarding.” He deliberately didn't mention the family names that came to mind, considering that Hermione worked with at least one of them regularly. “I'm clearing out some stuff with sentimental value, but I'm donating the rest of the estate to a project that Narcissa Malfoy is working on. A magical primary school for all magical children in Britain and Ireland.” Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously and he rushed to assure her. “It includes Muggleborns. Don't worry, I made sure. That's part of why Longbottom Hall is such a boon to them. It is one of the only big manor houses that didn't have loads of anti-Muggleborn enchantments.” </span>
  <span>“That's incredibly generous, Neville.” She was beaming. As always, he felt a warm glow suffuse him, just from knowing that he'd pleased her. Harry and Ron had loved to complain about her being difficult, but Neville always found that he felt better being around Hermione. She didn’t hold things back, good or bad.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I didn't exactly do it for nothing. I got to name the school: Lavender Magical Primary.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He kept himself busy for a moment, not wanting to acknowledge the wave of emotion sweeping through the room. The truth was that he felt some twinge of guilt for not using the opportunity to name something after his parents, but they were still alive, and it had felt morbid to him. So many deaths from the final battle got overlooked. It felt good to be able to leave a little of Lavender Brown in the world. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“So, when you said you needed help setting wards, you meant from the ground up then?” Hermione finally said, breaking the silence. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I managed to set up the basic floo restrictions on my own with help from the network workers.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I liked the floo code: Moss cottage. Did you just like the way it sounded?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No,” Neville grinned, excitement bubbling up as he headed to the side door to the garden. “You'll see when we are laying the wards.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Let's get to work then!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They walked the whole border of the property, following along the garden wall, admiring the grounds as they went. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The house was a little removed from the nearest town. A small farm sat nestled at the bend in the road, but it was otherwise isolated for half a mile in any direction. Neville was glad that it had some distance, because he'd decided to buy it before he'd actually paid much attention to how it was situated. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh that's perfect,” Hermione said as she saw why he had chosen the name, her eyes sparkling and an astonished grin spreading across her face. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The thatched roof of the cottage was completely overgrown with thick green moss. It seemed almost intentional, so thoroughly did it cover every inch of the top of the house. Trailing ivy climbed up the brick walls and into the moss. It was like the house was part of the overgrown garden that surrounded it.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I thought so,” he agreed.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Basic wards went up first, to discourage Muggles—and thieves—from approaching. Next they engraved fairly complicated runic wards into the garden wall itself, which Hermione insisted they seal with blood so that the enchantments couldn't be modified by anyone else. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The whole process took far less time than he had imagined. The sun hadn't even fully set when Hermione tucked away her wand and declared the job finished. The feeling of the house had changed with the wards being set. The muscles in his neck loosened with the familiar, almost imperceptible weight of magic in the air. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They ate dinner straight out of the containers, sitting in the only two chairs he had in the house and talking about the work that needed to be done.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have no idea how lucky you are.” Hermione insisted as she gestured at the overgrown garden. “Since Ron and I split up I've been stuck in this</span>
  <em>
    <span> tiny</span>
  </em>
  <span> flat. No outdoor space at all; I can't even open a window! It's convenient to be in the city I guess, but with Apparition and the Floo, thinking about location that way just seems silly. There's just nothing good for rent in my price range. Sometimes I regret not taking the leg-ups in the Ministry that Ron and Harry did simply because I'd have a higher base salary. . .”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She had always been high strung, but Neville had never heard Hermione go on like this. Her complaints tended to center on things like other's lack of concern, or worrying about the state of important institutions. There simply wasn't room for petty problems in her view of the world. Someone would try to complain about a minor irritation and Hermione would somehow turn it into a larger argument about a systemic problem. There was only thing that he could imagine making her whine like this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She must be truly miserable. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Why don’t you come here then?” Neville said, interrupting her continued string of complaints about her flat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“If you hate your flat that much, come live here,” he insisted, leaning forward to set the remainder of his carry-out on the floor. “I've got a bedroom I'm not using, I know you're tidy, and I don't particularly fancy living alone. So, be my roommate.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Hermione looked around at the room, seeming to catalog a million things as her eyes flicked from corner to corner. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Neville laughed and rolled his eyes. “I wouldn't ask if I wasn't.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Er-okay,” she said, fidgeting excitedly despite sounding unsure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great.” He went to the kitchen and pulled up the little samples that he'd pulled from the paint catalog Luna had sent to him. “Since you’re going to be living here, you can help me pick a paint color. I can't decide between the blue and the yellow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>September 9, 2003</b>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Hermione had picked the yellow. The color was pale and delicate, barely yellow at all, and now that she had brought over the last of her furniture she was glad she had picked it. Neville's cottage was mostly a ruddy brick, the floor and the one exposed wall reflecting the building material of the exterior. The pale walls brightened the room and reflected the light from the huge arched windows. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Most of the furniture that she had been keeping shrunk and stored away in her drawers was made of oak, varnished to a warm golden brown. She kept one set of bookshelves in her bedroom, but the big set of four went on one wall of the sitting room, along with her coffee table and a little credenza. They'd been the only large things she kept from her parents house when it had become clear that their memories weren't salvageable. She'd never even tried to find somewhere to put them at Grimmauld Place. The clean modern lines of her parents’ taste simply didn't fit in the strange, twisting atmosphere. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They fit here perfectly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The move had been seamless. She had been completely settled in by the end of that first week without any hiccups. The worst of it had been realizing that no matter what she tried, she still couldn't display all her books. She simply had too many. But if stacking her books two deep in her bedroom shelves was the worst of her problems, she thought that she was still coming out far ahead. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>So far the only things that Neville had taken from her was a very reasonable contribution towards the household expenses and her time for little projects. Once she'd set up her bookshelves, he'd been terribly keen on the idea of copying the color for a set of shelves for his own books and plants on the other side of the room. The first weekend she'd lived there he'd sheepishly asked her to help him with joining the beams for his greenhouse. When she came home early one night, he'd asked for her opinion on a schedule he was creating for a group of fifth years that needed some extra help before their OWLs. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It was a pleasant change for Hermione. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Her work at the Ministry was solitary. Going through legalese all day with a fine tooth comb and hoping that she didn't find anything too offensive buried in any proposed legislation didn't require much socialization. Before the move, she would come home to her flat and read over take out or take a book out with her to a restaurant if she just couldn't look at the four dingy walls again. The monotony had only been broken by occasional prodding from her friends. At the cottage, she seemed to always have plans and companionship. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Even just reading at home on a Saturday felt more enjoyable and fulfilling with the sounds of Neville’s puttering filtering in from the garden. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“We need a kitchen table and chairs,” Neville said one evening, kicking off his gardening boots as he came in from outside. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah?” Hermione looked at the barren side of the little kitchen. “I guess we do. It's strange to have a space for it and not have one.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Neville ran a hand through his hair sheepishly, as if he felt bad complaining at all. “I just think it would be nice to not have to eat every meal out of my lap.”  </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Hermione tried to imagine what would look best in the little sun-drenched nook off the kitchen. Round and vintage were the only things that came to mind. Nothing but round would look right in the strange shape cut out by the bay window, and vintage was simply a requirement for the whole house. It had to go with everything else. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“If you're done for the day we could go shopping?” She knew a good charity shop near her old flat that had plenty of furniture. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He took a quick shower while she pulled on something other than her ratty sleeping T-shirt and boxers and they Apparated into the alley behind the shop with a crack. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The look on Neville's face in the charity shop was pure wonder. His eyes skipped over the cluttered racks of clothes and knick-knacks rapidly sticking on things that were mundane to Hermione: an ancient hairdryer, an electric kettle, a pair of coveralls. The row of televisions along the back wall seemed to captivate him most, the slightly hazy images catching his attention so thoroughly that his jaw dropped. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Keep it together, Neville,” Hermione whispered, gently pushing his mouth closed so that the shop-keep would stop staring at him. She pulled him to the back of the store. “The furniture is at the back.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The store had a remarkably large selection of old round tables and mismatched chairs. They didn't bother to check them for damage. Loose legs and cracks weren't hard to fix with a little magic. Instead, Neville insisted on something made of wood, shivering a little at one table with a formica top, and Hermione insisted she didn't want to see anything with lots of unnecessary detail. She wanted something simple. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They settled on a plain oak table whose main selling point was that it was utterly inoffensive, each selecting a chair to go with it. She looked through the store for nearly half an hour before settling on a metal chair painted with chipped mint green enamel that had probably once been part of a patio set. Neville picked a large breuer style chair with tacky gold metal for the base and threadbare jungle green upholstery on the seat and cushioned back. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It's sturdy,” he said when she raised a questioning eyebrow at his choice, running a hand through his hair and not quite meeting her eyes. “And doesn’t have arms. So it'll be more comfortable.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione nodded nervously before zipping off to make their purchases, berating herself internally for not considering what it must be like to try and find comfortable seating when you were so big and tall. Once she'd finished up at the counter she surreptitiously cast a feather-light charm on their items so they could carry them out to the alley with ease. </span>
  <span>Back at the cottage, the table fit into the little nook off the kitchen perfectly, the mismatched chairs somehow perfectly picking up the colors of the variegated foliage in the hanging planters above. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Hermione couldn't help but smile as she cast a few cleaning spells on their new furniture and watched the magic polish a lovely sheen into the woods and metals. She'd never bought something like this with someone before. Of course there had been treats from the trolley or Honeydukes when they'd been in school, and more food and necessities when she'd been on the Horcrux hunt with Harry and Ron, but never something big, something that felt permanent. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I think it looks good!” she finally said, admiring her handywork. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It looks great,” Neville agreed, sitting down in his new chair and leaning back comfortably. “Mostly I'm just glad we won't feel obligated to eat carry-out every night anymore. Real table, real food.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione blanched, wondering if even one of her books could teach her to not be such a disaster in the kitchen.</span>
  <b><br/>
</b>
  <b><br/>
</b>
  <b>September 25, 2003</b>
  <b><br/>
</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione couldn't cook. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neville realized it pretty quickly when she kept serving him scrambled eggs that were somehow both simultaneously burnt and runny. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>And the eggs were some of her wins. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Her attempt at making a Sunday roast had ended in her casting an </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aguamenti </span>
  </em>
  <span>into the oven and filling the whole house with smoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was normally so competent at everything she did that he had no idea what to do with the undeniable evidence that she couldn't manage to cook even the simplest of meals. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Potions had been his worst subject, and she had kept him afloat with all the detailed instructions and preparation. He knew that she could manage a fire and chop plants and animal products in any number of ways. Following directions was Hermione's favorite pastime. She had somehow managed to do both her work and his simultaneously off and on for years in the potions lab. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He could not figure out why she didn’t seem to be able to scramble an egg? </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The school year had started, so Neville had taken to asking the elves at the castle bring him an extra serving of lunch, then wolfing it down in the greenhouses before going home on Hermione's cooking nights. He was fairly adept at vanishing just enough of the food on his plate to make it look like he'd eaten. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It didn't help that she was clearly very self-conscious about it. She barely talked to him for hours when it was her turn to cook, and her face would turn rosy pink when she handed him a bowl of pasta that seemed to be made entirely of glue. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>So Neville began watching her cook. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He set himself up at the kitchen table of an evening, grading homework from his students , but really he was sneaking surreptitious glances at Hermione from the corner of his eye. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He watched her burn cheese toasties to a crisp. He watched her shove a roast chicken back in the oven in a panic after she cut into it to find completely raw meat. He watched her put so much salt in bolognese sauce that it became completely inedible. He watched her desperately try to turn melted cheese into a smooth sauce instead of gooey lumps. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Through it all he noticed one thing: Hermione hated cooking. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The language she used under her breath in the kitchen was a shocking departure from her usual mild cursing. He would catch her standing in the middle of the kitchen lost in thought or staring wistfully out across the bar at her favorite reading chair. Her motions would turn lazy and imprecise and her face would go slack. She wasn’t irritated. That would have been more normal considering how often she had her brow creased with concentration. Instead, the muscles in her face seemed to just give up all together until her whole expression was weighed down and listless. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Neville hated it. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Hermione,” he finally said after watching her crack a third of a shell into a pan of eggs. “You know you don't have to cook right? I would be fine doing the cooking, and we can afford to go out if I don't feel like it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That wouldn't be fair.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I don't really care about what's fair. I care about the fact that you clearly hate doing it. Did you cook for yourself back at your flat?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Not really, no,” she admitted, the motion of her spatula becoming frantic. “I kept a lot of easy foods around, like milk and cereal, and I had a toaster and sandwich stuff. . .but mostly I ate out.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Then why are you making extra work for yourself?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because you said you wanted to eat real food. When we bought the table.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Like I said, I can cook,” Neville reminded her, becoming alarmed as she threw the spatula down, and ran to the sink, thrusting her hand under the running water, “I don't know exactly what I'm doing, but I can do the basics. Molly Weasley already offered to teach me how to cook so I wouldn't be 'eating toast for every meal' when I first decided to leave the castle.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ugh</span>
  </em>
  <span>—” Hermione dropped her head onto the counter, her words coming out muffled against the wood as she continued. “Do you have any idea how hard she tried to teach me to cook? She probably thinks Ron and I split up because I couldn't keep him fed.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I really doubt that.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You're right.” Hermione mumbled into the crook of her arm, though the admission didn't seem to improve her spirits. “Molly changed her tune a lot after Ginny got into the Harpies. She even used to cook dinner and send it over to Grimmauld because Kreacher just wasn't reliable in the kitchen and she knew we were all busy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me cook,” he insisted, moving to take the destroyed scramble off the burner. “I'd enjoy spending time with Molly and learning the finer points.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“The boys always looked to me for the cooking when we were hunting horcruxes, even though there wasn't much but foraged and stolen food to work with. Not to mention Harry was better at it.” Neville wasn't surprised at that. Harry had told him once that he had cooked almost all the meals once he was old enough to be trusted in the kitchen at his aunt and uncle’s house. “It makes me feel like I'm failing at being a woman.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Neville must have looked shocked, because she laughed long and hard before explaining. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know. I know! It's so against everything I stand for to say that I feel like as a woman I should be able to cook. I just can't help how I feel. I knew I was never going to be particularly fashionable or sociable, but I am good at cleaning and organizing, and I like potions. So I had this vision of myself as being a lovely homemaker as well as a working witch. Having it all.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you hate cooking.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah, it turns out that I'm just like my parents.” Her face contorted as she recalled her childhood, grief written into the tight set of her jaw. “They worked all day and then they didn't care to cook when they got home. I don't think I had a home-cooked meal in my house my entire life outside of tinned soup and half-burned cheese toasties, but we tried restaurants all over town.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That sounds nice,” Neville said, wondering what it would have been like to grow up so freely, unencumbered by tradition. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It was.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a long silence between them, with Hermione staring down at an angry red burn on her hand and Neville staring at her. <br/>
<br/>
</span>
  <span>“So, we’re agreed. I'll do the cooking from now on,” Neville said, breaking the tension as the smell of burnt eggs became overwhelming. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Except Wednesdays and Fridays. I'll bring carry out,” she replied, giving him a shy smile. “And I don't know how, but I'm going to thank you for this.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Deal.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks again to persephone_stone for betaing (Your little exclamations in the comments made my day) and I hope that you enjoy granger_danger! </p>
<p>It gets a teeny bit spicy in this chapter y'all *why do I keep writing some variation of this scene in different fics and then it takes me weeks to realize it??? lol) </p>
<p>I don't own it. We all know who does. *flips JK the bird*</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 2</b>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <b>October 31, 2003</b>
  <b>
    <br/>
  </b>
  <b>
    <br/>
  </b>
  <span>“I hope we made enough pumpkin pasties and cauldron cakes,” Molly fretted as she counted over the treats that Neville had spent the afternoon helping her make. “I'm certain there’s enough tea sandwiches, but that's not enough for some people, especially poor Harry coming straight from Auror duty.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Neville couldn't help but laugh as he looked at the absolute mountain of food they'd made. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It's going to be plenty, Molly. It's just a little Halloween party. Hermione is bringing some Muggle stuff as well. There's enough here for everyone that RSVP'd to have at least three or four of each. There's no reason to worry.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You're probably right, Neville dear.” Molly patted his cheek, and his chest felt full and warm with the fond familiarity. “You've grown up to be such a level-headed young man. None of my children ever asked me to teach them to cook. I'm so glad that you took an interest. Hermione tried so hard, but she just didn't enjoy it.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I'm glad I took an interest too, Molly. I look forward to cooking with you every week.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Now stop that or you're going to make me cry,” she said with a laugh, dusting off her floury hands on her apron, “Let’s get you loaded up and through the floo.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>One feather-light charm and a round of precarious stacking later and Neville was stepping through the Weasley hearth and back into Moss Cottage. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He almost didn't recognize his own house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The exposed beams on the ceiling were dripping cobwebs and the wiggling bodies of flying foxes. Giant pumpkins took up the far corners around the credenza, like someone had transported Hagrid's patch into the living room. Not a single surface was free of decoration. The kitchen bar was a line of cauldrons, some full of brightly wrapped sweets and others steaming with cider or cocoa. Candles lit the large arched windows, dripping huge gobs of wax that disappeared before they hit the floor and casting the whole cottage in a warm orange light.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Hermione?” Neville called, carefully setting down his contributions next to the stove.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Welcome home!” she said jovially as she bounded out of her room. “What do you think of my costume?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Her hair had been left to curl into a bushy mass at the nape of her neck and she'd charmed something onto her ears so they were slightly pointed. She was wearing brown dungarees that didn't quite cover her ankles, which would have been an odd enough fashion choice on its own if her bare, wiggling feet hadn't appeared to be twice their normal size and lightly furred. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It's, er,” Neville stumbled over his words. “The, the charm work is impressive!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You don't know what I'm supposed to be, do you?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I'm sorry. I really have no idea. Why're your feet so hairy?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That's part of being a hobbit. It's a type of being from a Muggle book called T</span>
  <em>
    <span>he Lord of the Rings</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She explained. “They made them into films, and the last one is coming out at Christmas. We should go see it.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That’s the thing where it's like a portrait but it tells a story right?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It's a lot like that.” Neville could almost see her brain coming to some conclusion. “Maybe I can get a television working in here and we can watch the other two films and then go to the cinema for the last one!” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Alright.” He tried to contain his enthusiasm for the idea, not wanting her to feel pressured with so much on her plate at work. “Well, I still think you look brilliant, even if I don't know what a hobbit is.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Thanks,” She gave him a warm smile before waving her wand and transfiguring the bowl that held the pumpkin pasties into a troll skull. “Go get your costume on! People are going to start showing up any minute.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She was right. Neville wasn't half done getting ready when he heard the rush of the floo and Hermione welcoming Harry and Ginny. He hadn't ever put on makeup before and the little palette he'd gotten from the Muggle costume shop made him feel even less coordinated than normal. Luckily he only really needed three colors. White to make his skin pale, black to hollow out around his eyes, and the liquid red to be a dribble of blood from the corner of his mouth. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He added a set of dated black robes that had belonged to his great-great-great-great grandfather and his costume was complete. He thought he made a fairly convincing vampire. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Just as Neville finally exited his room, the floo activated with rapid fire </span>
  <em>
    <span>whoosh</span>
  </em>
  <span>es as the rest of the guests started to arrive. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whoosh.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seamus and Dean, wearing boxes decorated like Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes fireworks. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whoosh.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>Luna, wearing one of her normal bright robes, but with a unicorn horn jutting proudly out of her forehead.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whoosh.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>George and Angelina, both dressed up as pirates, George’s eyepatch pulled askew to cover the place where his ear had once been.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Whoosh.</span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Ron dressed up in a Keeper's padding with the Chudley Canon colors emblazoned on the chest, a costumeless Hannah on his arm. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Neville saw Hermione's face drop as the last couple exited the floo. She clearly hadn't been expecting them to come together either. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Is that everyone, then?” he said loudly, drawing more attention to himself than he normally would. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Hermione shook her head, bright holiday smile quickly reappearing. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No, I invited someone from work, so we should still have one more coming.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whoosh.</span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Neville could only hope that he didn't look too shocked as Theo Nott walked out of their floo, looking semi transparent and grey. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Theo! You said you had a plan for your costume but I didn't expect you to kill yourself over it,” Hermione said, keeping her voice flat even as her eyes danced with mirth. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I thought you might appreciate the spellwork. It took me all week.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I don't know how you have time to learn something that complicated in only a week.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neville was surprised, too. He knew that they were working on opposite ends of the same bill at the moment, and Hermione had barely had a spare moment for the last month. She'd taken off the day today just so she could unwind while getting the house ready. It would be the first time she'd had two days off in a row since moving to the cottage. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That would be because I, unlike you, simply defend those unfairly maligned by your legislation.” The shit-eating grin Theo shot Hermione made his half transparent teeth glimmer in a way that made Neville shiver. “I just have to poke holes in your work, which is a lot easier than drafting a four hundred page bill proposal.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Hermione responded with all the biting sarcasm that Neville would have expected from her, but he barely heard her because just then,  Luna caught his attention. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It's nice that you worry about Hermione. I don't think enough people do, since she's so competent,” she said, a hand reaching out to pat Neville's and causing him to jump at the contact. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I'm so sorry, Luna. I didn't actually realize you'd come over.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Well, I did wonder for a moment if you were colonized by wrackspurts, but I don't see any buzzing about. Simple distraction is a much better problem to have.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I'm glad to hear I'm wrackspurt free,” Neville replied, admiring the opalescent shift of colors on the horn she'd stuck to her forehead. “How is Brazil?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Wonderful! I am so glad that Castelobruxo is allowing me to stay while I conduct my research. I've made so much progress on fact-checking the moon frogs story.” Neville vaguely remembered the story, something about someone saying they'd ridden a Cleansweep to the moon and back. “Father just assumed that such strange creatures must be otherworldly, but even Muggles are aware of similar creatures in South America called glass frogs. Completely transparent.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Really? That's amazing!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I thought so.” Neville followed her half-focused gaze to Theo Nott. “Unless they are simply frog ghosts. That would be such a disappointment.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I don't know, I'd still be pretty interested in frog ghosts.” Neville actually thought that would be a bit more interesting than moon frogs. It might mean that frogs were magical beings. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You do have a curious spirit, Neville.” Luna slipped her hand into his, lacing their fingers together and giving him a warm smile. “Shall we go try the sweets? I've never had a Muggle Halloween before, I want the full experience.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“After you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <br/>
  </b>
  <b>November 1, 2003</b>
  <b>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A clap of thunder woke Hermione in the wee hours of the morning. At least, she thought that was what had woken her. The soft pattering of drops on her windowsill was loud and comforting despite her annoyance at being startled awake. She could have fallen back into a deep sleep if her bladder hadn't been screaming at her. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The party had gone on much later than she'd been able to hold out after sneaking in a few hours at the office early in the morning and then rushing home for an afternoon of decorating. She was glad that everyone had loved her Muggle Halloween as much as she had loved revisiting her childhood tradition of dressing up, but when Harry and Ginny had begged off because of early clock-ins, she had jumped on the chance to slip off to her room as well. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Luckily, everyone seemed to have finally vacated the house, so she could sneak out of her room in the rumpled t-shirt that she'd worn to sleep without fear of anyone catching a glimpse of the embarrassingly unsexy cat printed boxers underneath. Not that it should matter what she wore to bed, but people already seemed to have an idea of her as a stuffy, know-it-all, future cat-lady. She didn't need to confirm their suspicions. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Half-way to the bathroom a loud clap reverberated through the house, and for a moment she was convinced it had been thunder. . . except there hadn't been a flash of lightning. . . and it had come from Neville's room. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Twack!</span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The sound came again, not quite as loud, but just as distinctive. Hermione tiptoed across the livingroom to the other side of the cottage. She told herself that she was just getting a little closer to be sure her housemate was alright, but deep down she was just curious. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Twack! Twack! Twack!</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>Three sharp cracks sounded, followed by a breathy, feminine moan that raised goosepimples up and down her arms. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You're doing so beautifully, Luna.” Neville's voice drifted out, barely loud enough for Hermione to hear over the shushing sound of the rain, voice lower and harder than she'd ever heard it before. “How many more do you think you can take? Ten? If you can take ten then I'll fill you up with my co—” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Hermione shoved her fingers in her ears and bit her bottom lip to keep herself from releasing the shocked </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh! </span>
  </em>
  <span>that had tried to force its way out of her mouth. The bathroom was just a few feet away and she scurried over to it, shutting the door quietly behind her. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She could hear the sound of whatever Neville was striking Luna with even through her fingers shoved in her ears. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Twack! Twack!</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>How the fuck had she forgotten her wand? She would have sworn that she hadn't been without it in at least five years, but of course the one night she'd forget to pick it up before she went to the bathroom would be the one when she needed a </span>
  <em>
    <span>silencio</span>
  </em>
  <span> worse than she'd ever needed anything in her entire life.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Twack!</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>She jerked at the sound and wondered about the logistics of trying a wandless </span>
  <em>
    <span>Accio</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Twack!</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>She'd left her wand on the bedside table, she was sure of it. Summoned items followed the path of least resistance. So if she could even manage to pull it from that far it would knock over the cauldrons on the kitchen bar, and probably break her reading lamp. Not a good idea.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Twack!</span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Her face felt like it was on fire but she ignored the embarrassment for just a moment, dropping her hands to shimmy the boxers off her hips so that she could empty her bladder and get away from the sounds filtering through the wall separating the bathroom from Neville's room. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I'm going to give you the last five one after another. Breathe.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck is he talking about?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermione thought as she shoved her fingers back in her ears, finally relaxed enough to pee. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can hear her breathing through the wall, she's almost panting. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Twack! Twack! Twack! TWACK! TWACK!</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>Even through her fingers she could hear the guttural moan that Luna let out as Neville finished off the blows and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if it was from relief that he'd stopped or because he'd given her the reward he'd promised. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She did her best to ignore the rapid, wet, sound of flesh on flesh that came through the wall as she wiped, immediately running back to her room on the other side of the cottage and casting a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Silencio</span>
  </em>
  <span> before she even bothered to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Scourgify</span>
  </em>
  <span> her hands. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Her heart was hammering against her ribs as she laid down in bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Embarrassment seemed to fill up every cell of her body, the feeling only increased by the heat pooling low in her belly. She rolled over and kept her eyes focused on the spines on her bookshelf, but try as she might, she couldn't erase the images that her mind had conjured to match the sounds she'd heard. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Luna bent over the edge of his bed, her pale hair pooling to one side of her head on the forest green sheets and a strip of cloth clenched between her teeth. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The skin of her bum turning bright pink as it was struck with . . .something. A cane, a paddle,  . . .a strong, calloused hand. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Neville in the velvety soft antique robes he'd been wearing as his costume tonight, fake blood still spread on his chin – no, Neville in nothing but the denims he wore to work out in the garden – cheeks flushed and eyes dark, the muscles in his arms coiling as he reared back to deliver another blow.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The images flickered through Hermione's mind and she resisted slipping her hand past the worn band of her boxers and between her thighs, no matter how much she ached. It would just be too humiliating to get herself off to the sudden onslaught of images. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They were her friends. It would be wrong. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>But she couldn’t stop herself from imagining Neville's hands gripping Luna's waist tightly as his hips slammed against her bum over and over again, and Hermione's pussy clenched so hard thought that she might come without ever even touching herself. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She rifled around in her drawer to find a Dreamless Sleep Potion and downed it. The brew worked quickly. As darkness drifted up to pull her under, the last thing she thought was: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I need to get laid.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Neville woke to the sound of pots clanging coming from the kitchen and a disappointingly empty bed. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>His muscles ached pleasantly from the night before with Luna and he desperately wished that she'd woken him before leaving, so he could bend her over the nearest surface and give her a repeat performance. It had been a long time since she'd been in town and he hadn't even realized how much he missed her. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It wasn’t as if he were terribly hard up for partners. There were plenty of women interested in him now. If he wanted to, he could walk into any number of clubs and have someone invite him home. Sometimes he did, but things were different with Luna. He wasn't fooling himself into thinking they were in some kind of lifelong romance, or that things could ever work out more permanently between them, but it was nice to fuck someone he loved, and who loved him back. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It was hard to leave the warm, soft bed, but the smell of bacon cooking was enough to panic him into getting dressed and rushing out of the room. He didn't want to have another incident of Hermione starting a grease-fire. Summoning the lid out of the cabinet had resulted in them both being pelted with cookware. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Good morning,” Luna said as soon as he barged through the door. “I'm doing up breakfast.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Hermione shook with suppressed laughter from her seat at the kitchen table. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Th-Thought it was me cooking I take it?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I may have been a little concerned,” he admitted sheepishly before joining Luna in the kitchen, kissing her cheek so that he could whisper in her ear. “You know you don't have to cook, right?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yes, Hermione already offered, but I don't have my own kitchen in Brazil, and it's nice to cook again.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Alright.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Neville joined Hermione at the table, glancing at the vividly orange stool between their chairs. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I transfigured one of the pumpkins.” Hermione explained. “We should have bought at least one more chair for the table.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Two really,” Luna said, her voice thready and indistinct over the sizzle of the pan. “In case you both have a guest, or just for variety. That's how I come up with my best ideas. I change my foundation.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“The shape of your seat gives you inspiration?” Hermione asked and Neville shook his head at the rookie mistake. She clearly hadn't spent enough time with Luna. Sometimes you just had to accept her ideas at face value. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Luna thought for a minute, tapping her bare toes against the cabinet in front of her. “Shoes too, or the ground when I am not wearing any, whatever is holding me up.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Hermione just shook her head and went back to writing, finishing off a page of her tiny script and putting it in a pile to the side. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Working?” Neville asked. “On a Saturday?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It was the only day she always took off. She always brought work home over the weekend but it usually sat in a folder, untouched until Sunday. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Writing a letter actually,” she replied, her hand never stopping as she spoke. “I decided last night that I really should have invited Viktor. Luna came all the way from Brazil after all. Bulgaria's really not all that far, and he's been on my mind lately.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Viktor who—” Neville's thoughts suddenly caught up with him. “Do you mean Viktor Krum?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yes, we've been pen pals on and off since the tournament. He always visits me whenever he's in the country for work.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It's nice that you keep in touch with him,” Luna mused, carefully levitating platters of eggs, bacon, and toast to the table. “His life must get very lonely. He's so famous that it's intimidating to people, and he travels so much.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Fame does get lonely,” Hermione said, the look on her face indecipherable. “So I thought that I might invite him for New Year's Eve. I didn't really want to do anything for Christmas, as Molly would be devastated if I didn't go to the Burrow and I'm certain you're included in that dinner as well now, Neville.” Molly had, in fact, already insisted he come. “But I'd like to ring in the New Year right.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Do we have to dress up for this one?” Neville asked, already feeling the dread of having to come up with something else, or worse, having to get a new set of dress robes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I actually thought it might be fun to do it in our pajamas? Like a sleepover?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I sleep in the nude,” Luna said.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The statement seemed to render Hermione just as speechless as it did Neville. He slept naked as well—Luna had converted him—but he wasn't about to tell Hermione that. He had pajamas to putter around the house in. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You might have to dress up a little then, Luna,” Hermione finally said, her cheeks turing bright pink as she shook with restrained laughter. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I suppose that's fair.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They ate quietly. Luna stared out the window at their greenhouses, occasionally commenting on the movement of the Venemous Tentacula that Neville was nursing back to health while Hermione kept writing her letter. The pile of parchment next to her had become so massive that Neville wasn't certain how an owl was ever supposed to deliver it. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I have to go,” Luna said after a while, leaning into Neville's side before getting to her feet. “My portkey activates in a few hours and I wanted to check in on my father before going back to Brazil.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Will you join us for New Year?” Hermione asked, carefully tucking her letter into her bag. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I hope I will, but I am waiting to hear back about taking a long river tour with a native guide. If the most recent group is late coming back I might be on a boat for the holidays,” she said apologetically as she hugged Hermione good-bye. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I'll walk you out to the back garden, there's a good Disapparation point,” Neville insisted, holding the door open for her after she summoned the few random items that had made their way out of her pockets during the night. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He pulled her into a quick, punishing kiss as soon as the door shut, hands tangling in the fine, silky mess of her hair. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I'll miss you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He really would. It had been too long. She used to be home every few weeks, if only for a short visit, and he'd spend the summer with her. This year had been different. He'd only been able to visit for a few weeks in the summer and then she'd moved straight on to Brazil. They'd only seen each other for a handful of nights over the last year. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That's sweet,” Luna murmured, her breath soft against his lips, “You could come with me at Christmas, if I get the tour.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Not this time, Luna. I just got this new place, I want to be settled for a while.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You could never be unsettled, Neville,” Luna assured him, arms locked behind his neck. “You're solid, like good, rich earth.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Believe me, it's easier to disturb dirt than you'd think.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Of course you think that, you're a gardener.” She laughed, standing back from him and shaking out the tangles his hands had stirred up in her hair. “But as much as you move bits around, it doesn't really change the earth at all.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was gone with a crack, and he was left standing confused as always, wishing she would just say good-bye instead of running off without any closure. But at least he was a little less lonely than he usually was when she left. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Do you want to go and pick up a few more chairs?” he asked Hermione as he popped back into the kitchen, trying to keep his voice light and cheery. “I think we need a couple more at the table but I'd also just like a few more for parties, so we don't have to rely on last minute transfiguration. We could lengthen the legs on some to make stools for the bar and—” </span>
</p>
<p><span>“That's fine, but I have to talk to you about something, Neville,” she interrupted and when he finally looked up, he found her half-covering her face, her leg jittering nervously. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Alright,” he sat back down in his regular chair and feeling a sense of dread creep over him.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I heard you and Luna last night,” Hermione started, her words coming out in an embarrassed rush. “I promise I wasn't intentionally listening. Something woke me up and then I needed the loo. I plugged my ears as best I could but I'd forgotten my wand!” Her voice became more high pitched as she spoke, until it squeaked and cracked. “I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, but I just figured you were so used to the stone walls at Hogwarts you didn't think to use a silencing charm and...and I'd really appreciate it if you remembered in the future.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>She'd heard them. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><em><span>She'd heard him.</span></em><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><em><span>Merlin</span></em><span>  Neville thought, </span><em><span>What exactly did she hear?</span></em> <span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>It could have been any number of things. Images of his night after the party had ended rushed through his mind. He and Luna had certainly done their best to make up for lost time. He'd edged her for almost an hour, until she was nearly screaming through her gag. He'd fucked her up against the door and over the end of the bed and he couldn't even remember what he might have said to her in the throes of it. He'd even used the paddle on her, after warming her up with his hand.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>His cock stirred at his train of thought and he had to make himself focus on responding to the embarrassment, instead of the thought of what Hermione might have heard. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>“I am. . .so sorry.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Neville, it's okay. I'm not upset about it. It's just...uncomfortable,” Hermione rushed to assure him, hands still half covering her red face. “I feel like  I know you way more intimately than I should, and let me tell you, I never would have suspected.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>She must have heard the paddle then</span>
  </em>
  <span> his brain supplied, unhelpfully. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Neville forced himself to make eye contact, it was humiliating but he mostly wanted to make sure she didn’t think he was some kind of monster. “You know I would never hurt anyone unless they wanted me to right?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Of course you wouldn't. You're one of the best people I've ever known.” Hermione patted his hand awkwardly. “I'm not judging you; I'm just embarrassed.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Make that two of us.” He replied truthfully, though he was more embarrassed by his cock's reaction to having his private life put on display than he was of anything he and Luna had been caught doing at the moment. He stood as soon as he'd cooled off enough to not be visible, desperate to forget the whole conversation had ever happened. “Let me get dressed and we can head out to the shop and get more chairs.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <b>November 25, 2003</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione hadn't been so furious since she was fourteen years old, the moment before she punched Draco Malfoy right in his pretentious face. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>What was it with Slytherins? Honestly!</span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The last thirteen months of her life had been flushed down the drain in a single afternoon. Thirteen months of constant research on the origins of house-elves. Thirteen months of figuring out how they came to be bound to wizarding family lines, of teasing out which of their compulsions were cultural and which were demanded by magic. She’d spent so long drafting a bill that would acknowledge the truth that house-elves were symbiotic organisms drawn by intense pooling of magic in old wizarding dwellings. That they had provided service to the wizarding world as repayment for access to that residual magic and that wizards had brutalized that sense of fair play by enticing them into binding agreements that they passed down to their children.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>All for nothing. Because of Theodore Nott. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He'd waited to tear apart her bill in committee, even thought she'd sent it to him no less than four times so that his collective client, the Society for the Preservation of Pure-blood Tradition, could be prepared and have a chance to voice objections. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Of course he'd sent back every version with glowing support. It was hard to contradict cold hard facts. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The first generation of bound House-elves had been told they were bargaining their service, but they hadn't—they had bargained their freedom. It wasn't service if you couldn't refuse it, and wizards of the time had made sure they couldn't. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They had rounded up every house elf that could be found in Britain, and they had asked them to make unbreakable vows if they wanted to keep living in their houses. Unbreakable vows that said they would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>refuse a direct order. The wizards had told them it was to ensure loyalty, because you couldn't be family if you weren't loyal. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They'd killed every elf that hadn't taken the vow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had taken less than three generations for the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight to erase all traces of the time before they'd owned the elves. Every elf child had been taught that the family they served, </span>
  <em>
    <span>their family</span>
  </em>
  <span>,was their reason for living, that they only existed for the family. The vows weren't even necessary anymore.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>There was nothing keeping the house-elves bound to their houses now, except that they felt like </span>
  <em>
    <span>part of the family.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was the cornerstone of their culture now. To suggest otherwise was anathema. To be dismissed was the greatest shame an elf could endure. To even need to punish oneself was considered horrifyingly uncouth. It meant that you'd questioned, that you'd hesitated, that you'd acted with anything less than excellence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione knew that she couldn't change any of that, at least not on her own. She'd tried. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>But the bill wasn't trying to change their culture. It was a reclassification bill, to ensure that elves were classed as beings instead of property, and counted among the members of their households. Beings couldn't be owned. Beings had rights that could be protected, like the right to an education, the right to leisure, the right to not be tortured. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow it was the last one that had screwed her over. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even after leaving the Ministry to walk around Muggle London, she could still hear Theo's voice echoing in her mind, like it had as he chased her down the corridor after the committee meeting. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione, you know I agree with you on this, but they aren't going to let it go without a fight. It was better that you have a small setback now over wording. It lets them feel like they are getting a concession and you won't lose anything important in the bargain. I'm doing you a favor. Just make sure that the families can’t be sanctioned if elves choose to punish themselves.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>A year. That's how long it would be until she could refile the bill. He'd sent her back to the drawing board for a full year over a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking sentence</span>
  </em>
  <span> that wouldn't even affect the bill. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Hermione didn't even want to think about what another year without protections could mean to individual elves.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She didn't want to think about anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So she'd walked and walked, winding through an afternoon drizzle and letting it soak the back of her cloak, ignoring the odd looks she got from Muggles on the street. She walked until the cushioning charms on her shoes had all but worn out and her feet ached. Everything around her had started to look unfamiliar and she finally drew to a stop as a flicker of light at the corner of her eye caught her attention. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The wide shop window showcased brand new, state of the art televisions, with signs advertising DVD players and other additions. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They were exactly what she needed, and she was so glad, not for the first time, that she kept a credit card stored in the little beaded bag strapped across her body. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Apparating home with her purchases was more nerve wracking than she'd expected, but with the careful application of feather-light and impervius charms she managed it without shrinking the machines and their delicate components. Magic truly did make everything easier, even installing a television.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur had told her that he could never get a Television to work in the Burrow, but Moss Cottage wasn't nearly as densely magicked. She wasn't sure they could get normal television, as the wards seemed to interrupt the signal, but the electricity had no trouble coming in on the wires.  She fussed about getting it set up on the credenza, making sure that it was connected to the DVD player and working well before Neville flooed home. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What's all this?” he asked as soon as he'd set down the grading he'd brought home with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This,” Hermione gestured proudly at her setup, not a stray wire visible, “is a television. I just got it working. I had an absolutely horrible day at work and I decided that I want to teach you about one of the chief joys of Muggle life. Vegging out. I bought copies of the first two </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lord of the Rings</span>
  </em>
  <span> films, so that we can get you caught up before the third comes out at Christmas. Go change into something cozy and we can eat the carry-out leftovers for dinner while we watch.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione did the same, pulling on her pajamas and dragging an extra blanket into the living room before casting heating charms on the carry-out boxes and levitating them to the little coffee table. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Alright, I'm ready. Let's see if I love this as much as you think I will,” Neville teased as he leaned back into his preferred comfy chair.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Hermione didn't bother to dignify that with an answer. She simply hit play and watched Neville's face fill with wonder as the production credits faded into view on the screen.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>The world is changed. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She found herself mouthing the words along with Galadriel's haunting voice, her anxiety and fear melting away as she fell quickly into the familiar story and the stirring wail of the violins opening the theme. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi lovely readers! I know it's been a bit but I did say this one would have a random update schedule! </p><p>The content of the chapter meant I wanted to get this one up during the holiday season. I hope you enjoy it and I wish you all the happiest of holidays. </p><p>Thank you so much to persephone_stone for betaing and getting it done before Christmas! You are amazing :) </p><p>As always the terf in chief Mz. Rowling owns HP, not me. But also if she's reading I specifically wish her a very un-merry Christmas and an unhappy New Year.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>December 24</b>
  <b>th</b>
  <b> 2003</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione thought there there were more people on the streets than seemed physically possible as she navigated down the busy roads leading away from the Ministry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Normally she would have Apparated, but it seemed a dangerous proposition with how crowded it was. A stroke of bad luck could end up with her arm splinched straight into some poor, unsuspecting Muggle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The paperwork would be a nightmare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was better to just enjoy the crisp winter air and the sense of anticipation that seemed to radiate off the crowd. She felt one with them, a thrill running through her whenever she thought about the coming week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the next seven days she wouldn't be working at all. She'd scheduled it back at Halloween and the office couldn't even dream of fighting her. She'd never taken more than two of her vacation days—except that one time that she'd gotten an off bit of fish, and that certainly didn't count. It wasn't as if she could have come to the office when she was puking every few minutes—they couldn't blame her for taking days before the year rolled over and the time was lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She needed this vacation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The process of changing the designation of House Elves from creature to being was still stalled and looking at the expanding files full of documents, knowing that she could do </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> for months was making her mental. Going over other bills wasn't enough of a distraction. She couldn't bring herself to care about any other project when there were lives on the line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be good to get away from work. A whole week of holiday fun would force her to focus her attention elsewhere so that she didn't go completely spare. It all started tonight with taking Neville to see Return of the King. She'd done her research and found a wonderful little cinema not far from the office and bought their tickets ahead of time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now she just had to hope that Neville managed to get there without too much trouble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pavement in front of the cinema wasn't nearly as crowded as the rest of the walk had been. She'd worried for nothing. Neville had even beaten her there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took up a spot next to him by the coming soon posters. A haunting blue poster featuring a man looking straight out at them caught her attention. The poster didn't tell her much about the film at all except the name—</span>
  <em>
    <span>The Butterfly Effect—</span>
  </em>
  <span>but Neville seemed very intrigued. Maybe if he enjoyed himself they could come back another time and bring along a whole group. “Are you ready?” she asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you finished the book?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neville turned away from the poster and smiled, ducking his face in behind the collar of his coat shyly. “You know I didn't.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can't believe you prefer the films,” she teased. “There's something heretical about that, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don't usually like fiction, and I really didn't like the bits with Tom Bombadil. It was like some nonsense kids book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione held her hand to her chest and tried her best not to laugh through her false offense. “That's one of my favorite parts! That and the barrow wights. I was so disappointed when they weren't in the first film.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The barrow wights were terrifying. I didn't need to see them. The nazgul scare me enough as it is.” Neville shivered even as she handed him his ticket and they walked through the doors into the toasty cinema. “I'm starved. We should have eaten first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! I wanted you hungry. Cinema treats are the best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The line at the counter wasn't long, and it only took a few minutes to get to the head of the line. Neville's eyes widened as the bustling workers scooping popcorn and operating the drink machines caught his attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are we getting, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One large popcorn, sweet please, and a large coke.” She suddenly felt awkward about having assumed he'd be fine sharing the drink, though she didn't really want to pay for another when they were so large. “Unless you don't want to share? We can get individuals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“However you want to do it. I want to get the full experience.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione turned back to the counter attendant and gave him a broad smile. “That'll be all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>******************************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would never be able to pay her back for this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all Neville could think as they walked down the street after leaving the cinema. His initial burst of excited chatter after the film had petered out minutes ago, and now there was just a comfortable silence. Hermione occasionally nudged him around another corner towards a favorite pub that would still be open despite it being Christmas Eve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The present that he had sitting in his drawer at home certainly didn't feel like an adequate return for the experience she'd just given him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The television had been one thing. It wasn't really all that different from a Wizarding portrait, after all. Just it didn't have a mind of its own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cinema was magic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>People could call Muggles non-magical all they wanted, but Neville would know better from now on. They had created something so strange, so unfathomably wonderful that he had no other way to describe it but magic. From the moment the film had started it was as if he was in Middle Earth with the characters. The sweeping battle scenes would have been unbearable to him if they hadn't been so obviously a fairy tale, every move choreographed to tell a story. Tears had been streaming out of his eyes the majority of the film.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione had given him a completely new experience and he had gotten her a quill. It never needed to be dipped and the ink was a pretty aubergine that he thought she would like, but it was still just a quill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn't feel like enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Let's go home,” he finally said after minutes of trying to come up with something, anything to give her in return. He tugged on Hermione's elbow until she followed him down an alleyway. “I feel like cooking and we've got all the stuff for chicken and ham pie. I bet I can make it as good as your pub.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed, holding tight to his arm. “That sounds great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He apparated them into the garden, then rushed ahead of her through the back door and into the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Are you looking forward to your first Christmas at the Burrow?” Hermione asked once he'd gotten the chopping underway for the pie and she'd changed into her pajamas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Honestly? I'm just glad I won't be at home, missing Gran. I know it's the second Christmas without her, but somehow it hurts more than last year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>You wouldn't visit your parents?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I've got a tradition of seeing them on Boxing Day.” It felt very uncomfortable to admit that he didn't like to visit his parents on Christmas Day. He felt like he should explain it wasn't selfishness, or not </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>selfishness at least. “It's less busy in the long-term part of St. Mungo's then, and it puts less stress on Christmas. I don't like going to do anything else after I see them. You know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I do know actually.” Even from across the kitchen Neville could hear the odd flatness in her voice. “I only visit my parents in the summer. I get a teeth cleaning and I take a whole week for myself afterwards. I don't even have to use vacation days, I negotiated it into my contract.” He smiled at that, sad as it was. The idea was just so Hermione. “It's not the same, I know. They are happy and well, even if they don't remember me. I just meant that I do know how draining that kind of visit can be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate that you had to do what you did, but I hope it isn't horrible of me to say that it's nice to not be so alone. To have someone else who understands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were quiet for a bit as he put his back into rolling out the pie crust. Once he laid it out across the tin and filled it with pie weights to blind bake the whole process slowed down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Why don't I come with you this year?” Hermione said suddenly, her voice bright and cheery, as if she'd just had a wonderful idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>To see your parents. You said you visit on Boxing Day and I have that day off. I'd love to visit them again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was an idea. Neville would love not to have to go alone, but he needed to be sure it wasn't an imposition. “What about Viktor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>He's an adult,” Hermione said, waving off his concerns. “He can entertain himself for a bit if need be, but his portkey is set to see him here around two in the morning. So it shouldn't be a problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I don't want to impose, it's not like they will even know you are the--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Neville,” Hermione interrupted, her voice so sincere that not stopping and looking at her would have been unthinkably rude. “It's not an imposition. I care about your parents. Just because they have been injured doesn't mean they don't deserve people to care about them. I won't go if you'd prefer to be alone. I would obviously understand. I don't let anyone come with me to Australia, but if you want someone with you I would be happy to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence returned and he thought, squatting to look in at his crust through the little window in the oven door, as if he could know when it was done by sight alone. He didn't reply until after he'd pulled it out and put the pie weights back in their little jar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>That would be nice, thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Wonderful,” Hermione said, and Neville couldn't help but believe her.“The offer always stands, by the way. I might sometimes be busy, but I will happily come with you whenever you want a friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just nodded, grateful the crust was done and he could make himself busy with the filling rather than focus on the feeling that she had somehow managed to give him yet another perfect present.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>December 25, 2003</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Christmas at the Burrow had been busy, and full of cheer. It was hard to be unhappy at a Weasley gathering, even with the coolness that lingered between her and Ron. Neville helped, bustling around with Molly and Ginny in the kitchen and giving Hermione a reason to avoid the sitting room, where Ron had set up a game of chess with Fleur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't that Hermione had expected him to be an ass. Really he'd been perfectly friendly since they'd split in the spring. After Halloween he'd even had the grace to apologize for not letting her know that he was coming with Hannah. He had started joining her and Harry for lunch in the Ministry canteen. It felt good. Like old times. Hermione had gotten him a Chudley Cannons jersey for Christmas and given him a hug around the neck when she opened his gift: a beautiful wizarding photograph of Crookshanks, sitting on the shore of the black lake, the image looping as his paw reached out to bap the outstretched black tentacle of the giant squid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was probably the most thoughtful gift he'd ever given her, and she felt suddenly guilty for all the times at the end of their relationship when she'd thought he didn't see how hurt she was by Crooks passing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All in all, it was one of the happiest Christmases she'd ever had, but when Harry and Ginny had announced they were expecting a baby in April she could almost feel the chill emanating from Ron.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So she’d retreated to the kitchen, happy to Scourgify and resupply while the others worked. She would have done the cooking herself if she could escape the accusation that beat against her, even though Ron said nothing, simply working through the middlegame of his match with Fleur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His part from the argument that had ended everything ran through her head over and over again:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You said you needed time, but it's been five years and you still don't know, Hermione! I wanted my children and Harry's to grow up together! How much longer do you think it's actually going to take him and Ginny to get pregnant when they've been trying so long? If it needs to be now, then it's never? That's just great, Hermione. No, it's not the best thing for everyone involved. You'll get exactly what you want: your career. All I'm getting is five wasted years.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron had been right. Not about everything; it obviously wasn't a better idea for them to stick it out and have kids on the hope that she wouldn't be resentful because mothers always loved their children. But he'd been right that Hermione should have broken up with him when it became clear that he wasn't going to drop the subject. She had wasted his time, and with Harry's announcement he was undeniably behind where he wanted to be in life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hadn't understood why the timing of having children was so important to him, but at a Weasley Christmas, watching Teddy and Victoire playing on the rug, it was easy to see: He'd wanted his children to have built-in playmates, like he'd had, and he'd wanted the same for Harry's children. Having children was a family endeavor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was nothing she hated quite so much as knowing she'd let someone down, and her shame tainted the delicious dinner that capped off the night, making everything taste off. She was glad when it was over and she could go back to the cottage, which remained blessedly free of painful memories. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>December 26th, 2003</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Thank you, Neville,” Healer Martin said warmly when she opened the small box of chocolate-covered coffee beans he'd brought as her boxing day offering. He could see the mug steaming next to her on the desk and wondered how many cups she’d had already. He'd never seen her without one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Janus Thickney ward looked very different than it had when he'd visited two weeks ago. The healers had outdone themselves this year. There were dozens of poinsettias lined up on every window sill, and ribboned garland wrapped around every pole and bar. It looked very festive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He directed Hermione back through the small hall to his parents’ room and tried not to feel like he was making a mistake. Hermione had seen them before. She knew what it was going to be like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their room wasn't as festive as the common areas of the ward had been, but his mother was dressed in the warm flannel dressing gown he'd arranged for her Christmas gift, and his dad had new fuzzy slippers on his feet. It was nice to see. He had rarely given them gifts other than bubble gum and other treats, but he'd noticed their clothes getting worn and picked out replacements for every piece. Gran had always insisted that if they had to wear pajamas all day, then they would be lovely pajamas. Neville was just glad he'd thought to ask what their favorite colors were, and that his Gran had still remembered, even at the end. He thought his mother looked lovely in pink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their gazes were as hazy as always, but Neville could almost swear his mother's eyes cut to him questioningly when Hermione walked in behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Happy Christmas Mum and Dad,” he said, moving closer in careful, moderated movements so that his father wouldn't panic. “I've brought a friend today, but you've actually met her before. When I was at Hogwarts she was visiting someone else and she stopped in here. I don't expect you'll remember that though. It's been a long time. She's the witch I was telling you about, who shares my cottage with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom.” Hermione smiled widely as she greeted them and Neville felt something unclench in his gut. There'd been some part of him that thought she'd be awkward or uncomfortable. “Happy Christmas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione carefully re-enlarged the decorated tree and levitated it into the corner while he got the food uncovered and reheated on their little table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I thought it would be nice to have a meal together, but I understand if you two don't want to eat right now. I helped make the food, though—" Neville dug in his pockets until he found the decorations that they'd brought with them, along with plates of holiday leftovers from dinner at the Weasley's. "—Molly Weasley has been teaching me. I think that you knew each other when you were young. Her brothers were the Prewett twins and they were in the Order with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them came to sit at the table. His father seemed enraptured by the baubles on the tree, but after a few moments his mother did shuffle close to the table, looking askance at the plates of food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Neville,” Hermione tapped him on the shoulder, holding up a book with a dark red cover that was worn heavily at the edges. “I thought that we could take turns reading out loud, if you didn't mind. I know you want to be here with them, and that you want to talk with them, but it would be nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn't want to admit how grateful he was to hear that she'd planned for the visit. He came to see his parents often, but he constantly felt guilty for how quickly he left. It was hard to find ways to fill the time, and he ended up rambling to them about his own fears and feelings more often than he should. It certainly wouldn't be appropriate to do so with Hermione there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Thank you, Hermione. That sounds lovely. I'll start off if you don't mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Not at all. I love to listen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The little book was very old. It smelled like Hermione's room at the cottage and Neville found himself wondering if that was because it smelled like her, or if that sweet scent, almost like vanilla, that seemed to hang around her was simply the smell of old books.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens.” He opened the book and carefully turned the pages, which were dimpled on the edges from where they'd been turned many times. “There's a preface. It says '</span>
  <em>
    <span>I have endeavoured in this Ghostly little book, to raise the Ghost of an Idea, which shall not put my readers out of humour with themselves, with each other, with the season, or with me. May it haunt their houses pleasantly, and no one wish to lay it. Their faithful Friend and Servant, C. D.’</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The book wasn't what he'd expected when he saw that it was a Christmas story. It started off making the reader perfectly aware of just how dead one man was, and then went on to describe the most horrifyingly miserly person that Neville could imagine. Scrooge didn't seem like someone anyone would want to read a book about. It was as if Mr. Dickens had decided to write a Christmas tale about the least Christmassy person who'd ever lived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time his stomach was growling and his throat was parched enough that he needed to give Hermione a turn at reading, a ghost had made an appearance and his mother had sat down at the table, staring at the little plate of Christmas puddings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione had clearly read the story many times. Her lips curled up before she got to each joke and when the ghost of Christmas past revealed the memory of Scrooge's fiancee leaving him, he could see tears shining on her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neville's father had stayed quiet, seemingly content to continue looking at the red and golden baubles shining on the tree for the entire visit, but as the story progressed, his mother seemed to grow and more comfortable. She didn't eat the plate of food that they'd brought, but she scooted the puddings close to her, running a shaky finger through the icing on top.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He quietly picked up a spoon and cut a bite of pudding for her, holding it close so she didn't have to reach to get to it. She took it gingerly and while she chewed, he got her another bite, keeping his hand as steady as possible. He listened while he fed her, almost dropping the spoon when Hermione's voice rose dramatically and she described the horror of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surely this dark robed creature that radiated gloom and misery had to be a Dementor? But how could a Muggle know what one would look like?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mother finished her whole pudding, and he was more than happy to give her his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione just kept reading, seeming to be lost in the book, until she reached the finale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God Bless us, Every One!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Neville clapped, softly, so that the sound of his hands wouldn't be too startling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Visiting hours were close to over once the story was finished, so they had to pack up right away </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I'm glad Scrooge cleaned up his act in the end,” he said, carefully stowing the tree and the rest of the decorations they had brought. “He was awful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I used to think that Snape could deal with a visit or two from some spirits,” Hermione replied with a wicked grin. “I was disappointed when the castle ghosts didn't seem to faze him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>We should get going,” Neville said, turning towards his parents. His father had returned to sit on the edge of his bed, looking out at the enchanted window and watching the sky turn to darkness. His mother was starting to look as if she might fall asleep in her chair at the little table. “It's late and I'm sure you two are getting tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tap on his hand drew his attention and his mother reached out an unsteady hand towards him, her hand clasped tightly around something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Did you have something to give me, Mum?” he asked, opening up his hand so that she could drop her treasure into his palm. It was the little sprig of holly that had decorated the Christmas pudding tray. It was just a little piece of her food trash, the same as always, but the bright red berries and perfectly preserved leaves felt so much more like the season than her usual gifts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt special. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Mum. Happy Christmas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They left without saying anything else, walking quickly through the hospital.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I hope that you didn't mind the book,” Hermione said as they made their way to the apparition point. “I was nervous about not knowing what to say, but I wanted them to feel like they were included in conversation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>No. It was brilliant,” he assured her, trying to not let the overwhelming emotions in his chest spill over. “I wish I'd thought to read to them before. You have no idea how often I don't know what to say, even though I really want to talk with them.” He would take the Lord of the Rings next, and read them through slowly. The whole idea was just another gift she'd given him recently that he couldn't imagine ever making up to her. “Thank you for coming today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grabbed his hand and smiled warmly, simply replying, “Of course” before turning on the spot and sending them back home with a stomach turning pop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor Krum was sitting in the living room when they walked through the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neville knew that it shouldn't feel weird. They'd met before, briefly, at the Yule Ball in fourth year. It had been a truly wonderful night and Neville had said hello to Viktor at the punch bowl. He'd smiled and told Neville that it was good he was showing his date a good time. It had been easy to treasure such a kind compliment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So they knew each other a little, and it wasn't as if Neville was a Quidditch fanatic or anything. There was really no reason for Neville to feel like it was weird.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was awkward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would have been awkward anyway, because Hermione had been out of sorts since spending Christmas at the Burrow, though Neville couldn't quite figure out what had instigated the sudden chilliness between her and Ron. But arriving home to find someone else in your living room just </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> awkward all on its own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On top of that, it was a little weird to have another really big man around. He wasn't used to it. Some of the men he knew were tall. Some of them were broad. But no one was big like Neville.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd been used to being the chubby kid, and now he was used to being the big bloke. He stood back in a crowd so he didn't block views; he slumped a little to help people not have to crane their necks as far in conversations; he did his best to make sure he didn’t block the doorways or walkways when he was standing because he could easily fill the narrow spaces and trap people; he didn't think twice about taking the whole loveseat as his own chair when they sat in the living room. Normally, he was the only one who'd need it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except Viktor was just as tall and broad as he was—if a bit less soft in the middle—and now he was sitting in the loveseat. Hermione perched on the arm after welcoming him with a warm hug. The only available chair was the bowl shaped one that Hermione normally took. That monstrosity was so low to the ground and sharply angled that Neville was convinced he'd tip the whole thing over if he tried to maneuver into it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was also the fact that when Hermione greeted him he had pulled her into the chair with him, and now one of Viktor's hands was splayed against the small of her back. That definitely made the list of things that had Neville feeling uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was intimate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neville literally didn't fit anywhere in this room, metaphorically or physically, and Boxing Day or not, he'd rather have a quiet evening in his bedroom than try and figure out how to make space for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think I'm turning in early." He said, inching around the spare section of walkway that wasn't occupied by Viktor's knee. "It's been a long day."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You sure?" Hermione asked, her face a picture of genuine concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neville watched Krum's fingers dip beneath the edge of her sweater.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I'm sure,” he said, turning his attention to their guest and hoping he managed to conceal his discomfort. “We can give you the grand tour tomorrow, alright Viktor?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course." The other man replied, meeting Neville's eyes for only a fraction of a second before returning his gaze to the place where Hermione's neck and shoulder met. "Hermione and I, we have much catching up to do."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neville just bet they did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as Neville closed his bedroom door Viktor wound one strong arm around Hermione's back and the other under her knees and stood up with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Viktor!" she half squealed, trying to muffle a giggle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have I misjudged your letters, Hermione?" Viktor asked, standing very still. "I thought this is what you wanted."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione couldn't very well deny it. The first letters she'd sent enquiring about his plans had been friendly, but even then she'd been hoping that he'd be interested in a holiday fling. Her most recent letters had gotten decidedly more flirtatious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They'd only shared one kiss during the Triwizard Tournament, in the library, just after he'd asked her to the Yule Ball. She was glad it hadn't gone further then. There was no telling exactly what her age was after all the time turning, but no matter what, she'd still been very naive at the time.  Yet she'd always remembered what his hand had felt like cradling her face as he'd quickly touched his lips to hers: warm and rough where his broom-calloused thumb brushed her cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She'd been thinking about that moment a lot lately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>No, you're right. I do want this. I just don't want to start anything in the common space. It would be terribly awkward if Neville walked in on us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Perhaps for you. I think that Neville would appreciate the view.” He rolled his eyes and began walking towards her bedroom door when she started to protest. “Don't worry, I am taking you to bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He carried her as if she weighed nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor's hands were still warm, and once he had gently sat her on her bed, those hands were all over her. One edged under the hem of her jumper, hand splayed wide against her side, thumb tickling the sensitive skin under her navel, making her shiver. The other cupped the back of her neck, the touch so gentle it tempted her to tip her head back. His black eyes were like mirrors in the dim room, reflecting the pinpricks of light that shone through her window from the greenhouse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knelt next to the bed, hand trailing down from her neck to her hip, “Lay back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scooted her hips forward on the mattress as she fell back, propping herself up on her elbows. He had her denims and knickers down in one smooth motion she couldn't have managed on her own and her skin felt as if it might vibrate entirely off of her body as he pulled her feet free of the trousers and draped her legs over his shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first kiss Viktor had given Hermione in ten years was on the inside of her calf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of her wanted to protest it. It seemed to her that something like this should start with a kiss on the lips. Proper romance. But looking at Viktor's face, framed neatly by her tan thighs, was nothing less than intimate. He turned his head and placed a tender kiss at the crease of her knee and she couldn't call it anything short of romantic. He continued to plant kisses on each leg in turn as he moved up her thighs, until Hermione couldn't stand the anticipation another minute. Laid back fully on the bed she couldn't see him at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I've wanted to do this for a long time, Hermione.” The heat of his hands braced on either side of her hips and she could suddenly feel just how close his face was to her cunt, his breath tickling against the wet, sensitive flesh. “May I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Yes,” she breathed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor kissed her cunt just like she'd imagined he would kiss her on the mouth. Everything was firm, but gentle, and he was clearly practiced. At the first touch of his open mouth against her she wanted to melt into him. He sucked teasingly on her labia, his nose just grazing her clit. The sensation was mind-wrecking. She couldn't hold onto one thought for more than a second before he would move and her hips would jerk against his mouth involuntarily. Whatever she'd thought this encounter would be like, it wasn't this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he finally laid his tongue flat against her slit and licked from her entrance up to her clit, her thighs started to shake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn't take long for him to pull her over the edge with his intensity. He dragged his tongue over her again and again, focusing in on her clit until suddenly she didn't need to reach for anything: it was right there. Her thighs stiffened, pulling in against his ears as her world narrowed to the clenching sensation between her legs and a tightness in her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was limp and spent when he finally pulled away from her, sitting down next to her on the bed. She didn't realize she was crying until he reached out and wiped the corner of her eye, his heavy brows pulled low with concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Was that not good for you, Hermione?” he asked. “Did I hurt you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sobs shook her body as she sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. “No, V-v-viktor. It f-felt w-w0nd-derful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no explaining it. She had been anticipating this for weeks. Thoughts of what it would feel like to finally give in to her attraction towards Viktor had been creeping into her thoughts even at the Burrow, up until Harry and Ginny's announcement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> felt wonderful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now she couldn't stop crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Shhh,” Viktor said, pulling her in against his side and squeezing her tight. “It's okay, Hermione. It will be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn't sure how long she sat like that, fully clothed from the waist up and blubbering into Viktor's chest. It must have been quite a long time, because when things finally started to dry up her face felt badly swollen, and the dampness between her thighs had dried into a tacky mess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I'm sorry, Viktor. I honestly don't know what's come over me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He murmured gently, his breath ruffling the tiny hairs at her crown. “You said in your letters that it has been a long time since you've been with someone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded, embarrassed at just how long it had really been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I hope I am not presuming too much in saying that Ronald was the only person you'd ever been intimate with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>You've only ever had sex with one person, and you'd been in love with him a long time. You've only really made love, Hermione. Don't feel bad because your body remembers that. You've had your heart broken. You are allowed tears.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I'm certain this isn't the sexy fling you were expecting, though.” She sniffled, feeling terribly embarrassed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor tucked a finger under her chin, lifting it up so that his dark eyes bored into hers as he said, “We are friends, are we not?” She nodded again, her chin pressing hard into the tip of his finger. “Then it was never going to be a 'fling'. I know that we are headed down different paths, but I am honored that when you wanted to move on, you thought of me. If I did nothing for the next week but hold you while you slept, I would still be glad that I got to bring you comfort.” His dark eyes had always been intense, but Hermione swore she could feel heat from his gaze as he added, “But please don't doubt that I want you. A little crying hasn't scared me off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I think I just missed sex so much that I'm rushing back into things,” she replied after a while. “I'm not ready to sleep in the same bed as someone else yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his credit, Viktor's attitude didn't seem to change at all as he asked, “Would you like me to leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>No,” Hermione said, though she wasn't really sure that was true. “Maybe.” That was closer to the truth. She didn't want to be alone but she didn't really want to spend the rest of the night half naked in Viktor's lap. “Not yet. Let me make us some tea, or cocoa. It is Christmas after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They went to sit at the kitchen table and talked long into the night, and for once, Hermione just said what she wanted to. She didn't switch the subject to what single life was like. She didn't hold back her guilt at not having left Ron when she first realized they couldn't work. She didn't hold back her resentment either. Viktor didn't say much, as he’d never been much for talking, but he listened. No one else she'd been able to talk to had been able to just listen. All her friends and family were Ron's too, and since she was the one who did the breaking up, he got the sympathy. Viktor had no such loyalty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He left just as it was getting light outside, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before making his way out the door to pay a quick visit to Fleur and Bill before advancing his return to Bulgaria.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Neville came out to start breakfast, she was still sitting at the kitchen table in pajama shorts and the same shirt she'd worn yesterday. He didn't say anything or ask where Viktor had gone. Instead, he just started eggs and toast, slicing off a few small slices from Mrs. Weasley's leftover ham to go with it. He made a lot of noise as he cooked, humming God Bless Ye Merry Hippogriffs under his breath as he opened doors and put on a kettle. As Hermione listened to the familiar noise, the raggedness in her chest eased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her heart was still broken, but at least she wasn't lonely.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>December 31, 2003</b>
</p><p>
  <span>New Years was quieter than Halloween had been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry and Ginny came, and so did George and Angelina, but Luna hadn't been able to get back for the holidays. Hermione had decided not to invite Theo Nott, considering that they weren't on speaking terms at the moment, but all the rest of the guests from the last party had gotten invitations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, not everyone could be swayed away from the celebration that Hannah held at the Leaky every year. It had been a long time since a Holiday had passed without Hermione, Harry, and Ron all being together, but as far as Neville could tell, Hermione didn't begrudge Ron's decision to spend the holiday away from her. Neville couldn’t help but feel it was for the best that they hadn’t been at the same party. With both of them being somewhat single, it could have gotten painfully weird around midnight when the kissing started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quiet was better. That was something that Neville was coming more to terms with every day. He'd always known that he preferred sitting in front of the fire to Quidditch, preferred drinks at home to a night out at the pub. . . but cottage living was proving to him that it was more than that. Nothing needed to be loud here to be heard. Harry was just one example. He was more subdued than Neville had ever seen him, but with a quiet house and just a few people, he felt like he could finally see just how happy the other man was. He waited on Ginny hand and foot and spent most of the night with his hand resting softly on her stomach. It was rare to catch him without a broad smile on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, George alone was enough to make the evening feel boisterous, especially when he insisted they go out to the garden and test his newest batch of fireworks before the countdown to midnight, insisting, “I can't let the product testing interfere with getting my girl her kiss.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fireworks were beautiful. George had truly outdone himself. The theme for the new rockets was 'faery's flight' and they went off with a sound of tinkling laughter, exploding high above the house and raining down sparkles that settled in the air around them. There were dozens of colors and the little lights that stayed suspended as if held there by strings were in the shapes of fairies, bowing and twirling with each pop and flash of the sparkles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was truly magical.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They'd all been caught up watching the sparks for a long while when Ginny suddenly shouted,</span>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>It's almost time!” The tip of her wand was glowing, emanating the time, </span>
  <em>
    <span>11:50</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “We need to do New Year's resolutions!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I don't do resolutions, sister,” George quipped. “I don't need to. I'm perfect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angelina didn't seem to agree. While the rest of them had been enjoying the display, she'd been examining it much more closely. Neville even thought he'd seen her reach out and touch one of the hovering mass of sparkles. “The fuchsia fairies are still fading faster than the rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Fine. My New Year’s resolution is to fix the fuchsia fairies fading fiasco.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Mine is to not let you set the shop on fire, so we might be a bit at odds,” Angelina said with a grin, leaning hard into her boyfriend's side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I just want to get this baby here safe and sound and not lose my mind in the meantime,” Ginny said, staring at her own still-flat stomach with a look that was filled with something that looked more like worry than awe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Same for me,” Harry said, wrapping his arms around Ginny so that he could lay a hand over her navel. “What else could I want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all very romantic, and mildly embarrassing if you weren't part of one of the couples involved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, Hermione could be relied upon to make the moment less mushy. “My New Year’s resolution is to be open to new experiences.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I like that,” Neville said, turning to point out at the garden plots and his greenhouses. “Mine is to try my luck at a vegetable garden. I've never grown anything useful except potions ingredients, and goodness knows they aren't useful to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Thirty seconds!” Ginny squealed, and the couples stood closer together, leaning into one another as the moments ticked by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione tapped Neville on the shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>My mother used to say you'll spend your year with the person you kiss at Midnight on New Year,” she said, darting her eyes over at Angelina and George, who had already started kissing. “We like being roommates, so let's say I'm staying and seal the deal for next year right now. That way we avoid standing here awkwardly while the married people snog.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny loudly started to count down the final seconds. “10! . . .9!. . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neville pulled Hermione close and grinned when she threw her arms around his neck. He realized he practically needed to pick her up off the ground to get her close enough to kiss, and suddenly, he was very aware that sturdy as she seemed, Hermione must be tiny. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd kissed plenty of girls before, but he'd never done it for any reason other than sex, or the prelude to it. Looking down at Hermione and deciding which way to tilt his head just felt different. The only thing he could compare it to was what it felt like to be with Luna, but that still wasn't quite right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made his chest ache. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>3!. . .2!. . .1! HAPPY NEW YE—” Ginny's cheer was cut off with a muffled yelp.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>January 1, 2004</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The kiss probably appeared chaste. Neville didn't try to slip her any tongue. . . their hands were visible. . .but what it looked like on the outside didn't reflect what Hermione </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Neville's lips were like fire where they met hers. A spark of heat that she hadn't expected from such a simple, friendly gesture seemed to radiate out until it made her toes curl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled away after a moment, hearing the others whooping and hollering around them. Neville looked as affected as she felt. His mossy green eyes were intense and locked onto her lips and his face was flushed pink with laughter and too much champagne. The only thing that kept her from pushing back up on her tiptoes and kissing him again was the memory of his voice, low and heated, as he told Luna exactly what he was about to do to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luna was her friend just as much as Neville was, and while it was clear they didn't have a traditional relationship, Hermione wasn't going to be the one to wreck it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Happy New Year!” she shouted, letting go to turn back towards the rest of her friends, silently ignoring Harry's raised eyebrow. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here we go! First update in a long while! But I've got another chapter almost done that I want to post at the beginning of summer. </p>
<p>Y'all I forgot what year this was set in and had to go fix all my date stamps. It was not my favorite part of writing this chapter lol.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>January 1, 2004</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>2004 started off with an awful racket.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mr. Longbottom. Mr. Longbottom! NEVILLE!" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A  familiar voice yelling from the living room finally woke him from the strange dream he'd been having, arms winding through a strange sea of soft brown curls that always seemed to slip away from him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"MR. LONGBOTTOM! COME TO THE FLOO IMMEDIATELY IF YOU ARE THERE!" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was Healer Martin's voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What! What is it?" he shouted, rolling out of bed. He grabbed his work denims from the floor, holding them up with his hands as he ran.  "Are my parents alright?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Your father has had one of his spells. He won't tolerate any of us, or even Alice. We've had to dose him with dreamless sleep. Your mother's distraught. I don't think she understands why he's not there with her." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had rarely heard Healer Martin be so formal. This was the voice she saved for his Gran before, for official, important things. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you want us to dose her as well?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neville drug a hand over his face. "No. Don't. You already said she's lacking muscle tone in your last report. She can't lay in bed all day. Give me ten minutes and I'll be over. I'll keep her company for a bit." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned to find Hermione standing in the doorway of her bedroom, brows pulled together with worry. She wandered out into the living room as he pulled on a worn shirt and grabbed a banana from the fruit basket. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Take this." She handed him a tattered book that had lost its paper cover long ago. The title page read </span>
  <em>
    <span>A Wrinkle in Time</span>
  </em>
  <span>. "The words can be strange, but it's easy to escape into. The kids are looking for their father. Maybe it will be meaningful to her." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rubbed his thumb over the velvety soft paper. It must have been her favorite, or one of them. It had been more than loved. “Thank you, Hermione.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>strange. He found that when he tried to read it to his mother he stumbled over them, but they were also rhythmic and entrancing. Mrs. Which reminded him so intensely of his Gran that he found himself instantly fond of her, despite her harsh personality. His mother seemed to like it as well, her fluttering hands calming as he walked her around the room and read slowly, letting the book lull her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>February 6</b>
  <b>th</b>
  <b>, 2004</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione had resolved herself to talk to Neville about the kiss. In fact, she'd still been awake thinking about just how to do it on New Year's morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Butterfly Effect” was still playing and they already planned to go. It wouldn't be hard to make it more romantic. It was billed as a horror movie, and it was always better to see those with someone you liked cuddling up with. She would love to spend it tucked into the crook of his arm, but it would also be okay if he wasn't interested. They could just go as friends, too.  She knew that he and Luna had something going on after all, even if it didn't seem particularly devoted or serious. She had no intention of coming between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It just felt wrong to keep it from him that she'd enjoyed their kiss so much. That it had meant more to her than an easy gesture between friends. Once upon a time she'd been his first choice for the Yule Ball. There was every chance that he would still be interested. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, her plan hadn't worked out in the slightest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had already felt awkward about asking him out knowing he was already seeing Luna, but she wasn't so uncouth as to try and set up a date with him while his father was in dire straits. Frank hadn't recovered from his bad turn on New Year's Day. The healers had tried to wean him off the dreamless sleep twice and both times he had come snarling out of the coma they'd induced with homicidal rage. They didn't know if he was trapped in a memory or the deterioration of his mind had just put him in a perpetual state of fear and anger, but the result was the same either way. He was laid out in the room he shared with his wife and kept under constant control by potions. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alice was obviously distraught. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neville had barely left his mother's side, except to go to work when it was absolutely necessary, and to pick up an occasional book from Hermione. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She came with him when she could and helped keep the words going for Alice. They had made their way through </span>
  <em>
    <span>A Wrinkle in Time, A Wind in the Door, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>A Swiftly Tilting Planet. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The reading was emotional for Hermione. She could vividly remember being in Alice's place when she was small, her mother and father reading these books to her. The concepts had never quite made sense to her back then, but the meaning resonated all the same. Now they were moving on to the books in the series that she'd read less often and she was sad that she only made it there a few nights a week. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hadn't felt so close to someone in a long time. She and Neville were both exhausted and worried; they both knew what it was like to lose a parent while they were still there and you could see them. It felt like they were in it together. Neville was usually the first thing she thought of in the morning, and always the last thing on her mind as she fell asleep, but as the weeks passed the memory of their New Year's eve kiss lost its potency.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was not because it hadn't really been extraordinary; if nothing else, Hermione's dreams attested to the fact that it had been, but it didn't seem as important as everything else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On top of worrying about Neville and his family, work was a nightmare. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She and Theo Nott were at war. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It seemed he didn't like her throwing his own tactics in his face, and since she'd already done the majority of the work on the Elf Rights Bill*** almost all her daily effort was trying to circumvent  his clients’ complaints. There seemed to be new ones at every turn: There wasn't a long enough time allowance for them to redress living quarters for their elves; there needed to be some kind of penalty for elves that worked against their families best interest (that one she wouldn't be budging on, they could take it all the way to the Wizengamot. She had Harry Potter's testimony about a disloyal house-elf saving their lives. She'd win); elves’ living wages should be adjusted according to their </span>
  <em>
    <span>size</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a nightmare. She ended up bringing her work home with her almost every night, and even when she did manage to get away, even just for a trip to Saint Mungo's, the injustice of it all bounced around her head. However, the constant communication gave her a lot of opportunities to mess with Theo. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Recently she'd had to start waking up early to intercept Theo's howlers and walk them out to the edge of the property so that Neville wouldn't be disturbed by the sounds of him screaming:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Is there a particular reason you changed all the language in the document from 'magical persons' to PUREBLOOD ARISTOCRATS. I am aware that is who owns the elves but do you know how hard you are making my fucking job? They wanted me to file a discrimination complaint against you and when I tried to talk them down I ALMOST GOT FIRED. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>or</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Did you honestly think that it was a good idea to shrink down every single draft of your brief and put it in the most recent corrections statement just because I said be thorough? MERLIN'S SAGGY BALLSACK! How many times have you been over it! It's been shooting out of the envelope for an hour! MY ENTIRE OFFICE IS FULL AND IT JUST KEEPS GOING.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The most recent had come just that morning. It had been short but surprisingly shouty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I HAVE NOT BEEN FUCKING NEGLIGENT. I ATTEMPTED TO INFORM YOU OF THE NEW HEARING DATE THREE TIMES. IT'S NOT MY FUCKING FAULT YOU HAD THE CONNECTION SHUT DOWN BETWEEN MY OFFICE AND YOUR COTTAGE.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione personally thought he deserved that annoyance in particular. Her sign-off on all her memoranda and official owl post specifically stated that work business needed to be conducted via owl after office hours. Besides, he was the one to drag her through the discrimination complaint when he knew that the insistence that no individual families that weren't already in possession of house elves hire them on as staff meant that the laws only applied to the current families that maintained the practice. He hadn't even read the full document or he'd know that she'd separated out the regulations to be placed on businesses and community institutions. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knew it was petty, but all the frustration had to go somewhere, and she certainly didn't have any other outlet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>February 14, 2004</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neville had thought he liked the color pink. If you'd asked him he might have even said it was his favorite color. It was soft, wholesome, pretty. Lots of flowers were pink. Girls had pink cheeks when they were all flustered, and their bottoms turned pink when he'd smacked them well enough. . .alright, so maybe his fondness wasn't entirely wholesome, but he'd be willing to stand by it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After celebrating Valentine’s Day in Saint Mungo's, he decided he just might hate it. The healers had charmed the entire ward bright, candy pink, with red, heart-shaped accents everywhere he turned. It was terribly tacky, but that wasn't even really the problem. The problem was that you couldn't ignore it. Even his mother noticed it, and seemed to remember the holiday. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was by far the worst day they'd had since his father had been placed under sedation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione had come with him after work, and brought along a record player that Arthur Weasley had been tinkering with so that you could play vinyl on a wind up mechanism that would work even in the most magical of buildings. It was just another in a long line of thoughtful gifts that she'd provided since the whole mess started.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don't know how you manage to think of this stuff,” he said, watching her unshrink the machine and set it up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was easy this time,” she said, flashing him a small smile that came nowhere close to meeting her eyes. “I just thought about what I was missing most this Valentine’s Day, besides having someone to celebrate it with, obviously. It was the music.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been a wonderful gesture. It really wasn't her fault that it had gone so terribly wrong. The healers were quick to make him aware that his mother hadn't eaten or taken her walk yet today. She wouldn't step outside the room once she'd seen the decorations. When they arrived she had retreated into herself, listless and barely aware as she stood and looked out of the window.  When they'd put on a record, she'd started weeping. It was the kind of crying that couldn't be stopped; huge screaming sobs that came from deep down inside her gut. No matter what he or Hermione tried, she wouldn't calm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the end, the Healers had sedated her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I'm so sorry, Neville,” Hermione said as soon as they were back in the cottage. “I didn't think that it would be like that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think she actually enjoyed the music. She just couldn't hold back her feelings anymore, and that's not your fault. I'm not even sure it's a bad thing. At least since they are both sedated they get to be roomed together tonight. I think that's about all she could wish for for Valentine's Day.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you mind if I still put on the record?” Hermione asked, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and looking guilty. “I know it's probably melancholy since I'm single but I really can't imagine going a Valentine's Day without a love song. And I swear, I cannot listen to Celestina Warbeck. Her lyrics are terrible.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course. Why don't you play it while I cook up something? I'm bored to death of takeout.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn't been to the shops in far too long. The cupboards were nearly bare of anything worth eating. There were a few tinned soups, some sardines, and a jar of artichoke hearts. The chill cabinet had the remains of a chicken that Molly had sent over, some milk and a bit of cheese, and eggs. An idea started to form, and sure enough, the flour canister hadn't been touched. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione finally got the record put onto the little spinner that played it and Neville carefully separated out egg yolks into the flour. Making simple pasta wasn't difficult, it just took a little time. The time went quickly with Hermione's music playing in the background. The album started with someone banging on piano keys, lively and bright. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I feel the earth, move, under my feet. I feel the sky tumbling down. I feel my heart start to trembling whenever you’re around.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neville folded in the eggs and kneaded the flour gently, and Hermione danced along with the piano. He didn't watch her closely, not wanting to make her nervous. She was terrible, or rather she didn't care about doing it well. He knew that she was an acceptable dancer. They might have been the only two Gryffindors back at the Yule Ball who'd practiced at all. But this wasn't formal. She simply swayed her shoulders and hips, slightly off beat. The movement started at her knees and rocked her body as she mouthed the words of the song to herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ooh darlin' when you're near me, and you tenderly call my name, I know that my emotions are something I just can’t tame. . .</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When it was over she fiddled with the machine briefly until the song started again, turning to shoot him a smile. “Sorry, I have to hear it one more time, then I promise I'll let it play through.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, no problem. It's a good song.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The whole album is wonderful. It was my mother's favorite.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She swayed again and Neville couldn't help but watch her. It shouldn't have been so attention-grabbing, and she certainly wasn't attempting to draw his eye. She was wearing a trademark lumpy pink Weasley sweater that was so big on her that it half covered her hands and a pair of denims. Neville felt guilty even looking, but he was drawn in by her gravity. Not for the first time, he found his thoughts shifting back to the kiss they had shared at New Year. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn't have much chance to analyze the feelings before an owl flew in through the open kitchen window and a bright red envelope flew out of its beak to form a screaming maw that had Theo Nott's voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Are you fucking kidding me Hermione? You reported me to human resources for BRIBERY? I'm a fucking BARRISTER. I know EXACTLY how far I can go and it is NOT bringing you coffee when I drop off a complaint. They are making me take an anti-harrassment class. I WAS BEING A GENTLEMAN AND YOU ARE BEING A FUCKING BI—</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione incinerated the howler, her face going pink enough to rival her sweater. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I might have taken things a little too far.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neville didn't answer, biting back laughter as he sliced out a messy batch of noodles and threw them into a pot of boiling water. At some point during the tirade she'd stopped the music. Whatever easy mood that had fallen over the cottage was suddenly broken. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I should go deal with that. He could probably file an actual harassment complaint against me at this point. Best not to let it fester.” She carefully restarted the record player. “It will move right on to the next song. Keep cooking and hopefully I'll be back before you're done.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was through the floo in a rush, and Neville was left alone with the food and the music, carefully browning butter to top the tinned artichokes and pasta. The second song on the album didn't have the same lively feel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So far away, doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore? It would be so fine to see your face at my door.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Listening to the singer’s soft wails, he couldn't help but think that there had been a missed opportunity. He waited for a long while, setting the food under heating charms, but Hermione didn't make it back for dinner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>March 4, 2004</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione was starving.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pushing Theo to a breaking point seemed to come with the side effect of being constantly hungry. Withdrawing her bribery complaint hadn't fixed anything. Hermione wasn't sure she'd eaten a meal sitting down in three days. He seemed to have a sixth sense for when she was about to take a bite and a howler would burst through wherever she happened to be. They didn't even seem to be reliant on owls anymore. They would pop through her floo from unblocked addresses, or suddenly be shoved under her door. She swore that one had appeared on its own when she'd tried to have her lunch out on a bench in a Muggle park, thinking it would lend her a modicum of protection. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Misuse of Magic Office didn't seem to agree that he'd violated any rules, and the letters had increased tenfold since she reported the last one. She didn't dare go to the hospital with Neville. She felt bad going home at all. He had enough on his plate without dealing with her workplace feud. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which was how she ended up in her office with an entire box of pizza open on her desk on a Friday evening. Avoiding her house so that her roommate could get some decent sleep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She couldn't understand how they'd gotten to this point. If asked, she could point to the sequence of events that led to each increase in antagonism. If she had to, she might even be willing to admit she'd been almost as wrong as him...almost. But for the life of her, she couldn't understand why they always ended up in this cycle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked </span>
  </em>
  <span>Theo. He was funny and creative and liked to challenge himself. Yet no matter how many times they tried to talk it out and come to enough of an understanding to get by, they ended up in a screaming match. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione understood why he had torpedoed her draft. It wasn't even </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was his clients. What she couldn't understand is why he would even work for them. She would never understand it...but she couldn't just let it go. She could never let anything go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She'd barely gotten through half a slice of pizza when someone started banging on the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Theo shouted as he knocked, his voice as crisp and passionate as it had been in every single howler. “HERMIONE, I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She groaned and looked at the half-eaten slice, feeling a deep pining in her gut. There was no avoiding it, she needed to answer the door. Someone might still be on the floor and she didn't need anyone else being more privy to the current state of her project. It was a struggle to get to her feet and she didn't even bother slipping her shoes back on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She opened the door when he was mid-knock, and his balled up fist just missed her face. He had the courtesy to blanch, immediately pulling back and tucking his hands in his pocket. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on in, Theo.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He settled into the chair in front of her desk. She leaned against the edge of her desk, too full of anxious energy to sit back down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I'm sorry to interrupt your dinner.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes and grabbed her half-finished slice of the pizza. “No, you're not. I don't know how you've been interrupting my meals but it's too consistent to be a coincidence.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Well, since you're determined to put the concerns of the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare up my arse every minute of the day, I thought I would give you a taste of what it's like to be screamed at during every meal.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Consider the lesson learned,” she said around a bite, trying to get through the piece as quickly as possible so she could vanish the box. The angrier she got the more unsettled her stomach felt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can't go on like this, Hermione,” he said after a moment of staring at her. He leaned forward on his knees, his brown eyes dark and unreadable as he looked up through his lashes. “Something’s got to give.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione wanted to laugh, to let the frustration spill out her mouth in a hollow, ringing sound, but she didn't. Instead, she just shook her head. “I've got nowhere to give. Sometimes I feel like you don't understand this isn't just a job to me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course it is,” he scoffed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She vanished the pizza box, slamming her hands down on the desk and taking pleasure in the way Theo's narrow shoulders jerked at the sudden sound. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This bill is what I've been working on since the age of fifteen. Even during the war.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re wrong, Hermione. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Helping the house elves</span>
  </em>
  <span> is what you've been working on since the age of fifteen,” he insisted, leaning back in the chair. “This is just one way of doing it. And it's still going to get done. It's just going to take a little longer.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you understand how fucking frustrating it is to hear that </span>
  <em>
    <span>again, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Theo?” Hermione could hear the echo of her voice in the room, bouncing back off the silencing charms and making her feel surrounded by her own impotent rage. “That's all I</span>
  <em>
    <span> ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>hear.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Just a little longer</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It's always a little longer. Then maybe people will care. Maybe they will have the time and inclination to stop being terrible fucking people.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stood, his face still expressionless, as if she wasn't saying anything. As if she wasn't showing him her broken heart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why can't it ever be </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>saying 'oh just a little while longer and maybe I'll care about your hurt feelings'? I just take it and take it and take it and there's never any satisfaction and I feel like I'm about to explo—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Theo's finger touched her lips, silencing her, and Hermione immediately had the urge to bite off the tip like a piece of baby carrot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione, you’ve got to loosen up, or you’re going to completely lose your mind.” He said, and for the first time she was faced with  looking him directly in the eyes at close proximity. They must be the exact same height, because the intensity of contact was startling, intimate. “Let me help.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wha'?” she muttered, his fingertip still pressed tight against her lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I'm going to let you work off some of that frustration on me.” He removed his finger from her lips and began to work the clasp at the front of his robes. “No strings attached. Or rather, only one string: that you stop trying to sabotage me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn't know what to say, so she just repeated his words, slightly confused. “No strings attached.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione, you don't even have to decide you like me again.” His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. “You just keep a lid on all that viciousness for twenty minutes and I'll make you come faster than the Hogwarts Express.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you always going to be that corny?” she asked, watching as he carefully laid his robes over the chair. She had never seen him without them on. He was a traditional sort of man, always at least in a cloak. Underneath the folds of heavy fabric he was wearing old-fashioned breeches and a stiff collared shirt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was hard to imagine him as the young man she knew when he looked like he had just stepped out of a period film. He felt like a fever dream, there to tempt her, and more vulnerable—like he'd removed his armor for her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that a yes?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For once Hermione didn't think, she just nodded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they kissed she could feel the press of her teeth against her lips, insistent and sharp. Theo's hips backed her up against the edge of her desk as his lips moved against hers. He was like a force of nature. Hermione felt helpless against the onslaught of physical sensation. His hands were everywhere: in her hair, moving down her back, gripping her arse as he lifted her onto the desk with a grunt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me what you want from me,” he said as he worked open the buttons of her blouse with nimble grace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It suddenly felt as if she'd never even heard of sex, much less had enough of it to form strong opinions. It must have showed on her face, because he laughed and leaned down to press a chaste kiss at her collarbone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don't have an aneurysm over it,” he said, his breath hot on her skin as he let out an amused huff. “Just give me some guidelines. I'll take care of everything.” His lips were on her again, barely grazing her earlobe.  “Anything to be wary of, any lines I shouldn't cross?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mind felt empty, only able to remember the basics as his stiff collar brushed the sensitive remainders of her curse scar. “Careful of my arm.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. Hermione was fully undressed except for her undergarments, her clothes carefully folded and placed to the side with her shoes on top. Theo tugged on her hand and moved out toward the center of the room. He never let go, pulling her down with him to the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She'd never thought anything about the rug before. It was simple berber carpet and perfectly comfortable on the soles of her feet when she'd had too much of her work heels. But her bare legs could feel the texture more fully. Theo's arse was still in his trousers. He didn't have to care. He reclined on the rug like it was where he was born to be, as if it were the softest shearling.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sat beside him, leaning on one hip and feeling overly prim as she tried to arrange her legs for some semblance of modesty. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Theo shook his head and dropped her hand, wrapping his fingers into the crook of her knee and pulling. “None of that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moved her and Hermione tried to breathe past her sudden embarrassment as he shifted onto his side and slotted his hard thigh between hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Focus on me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sounded frustrated and she couldn't blame him. The same thing had happened with Viktor. The sudden distracting feeling of doing something she should be ashamed of, like she was committing adultery. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She deserved better. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>Theo </span>
  </em>
  <span>deserved better. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded, breathing deeply and letting herself really look at him. His warm brown eyes were as sharp as they ever were across the conference table. His jaw was set firmly so his lips almost pouted. He was handsome, but more importantly, she had his full attention, and he clearly expected nothing less from her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione leaned forward to kiss him and as soon as she shifted, that hard length of thigh was pressed tightly against her cunt, half bearing her weight as his hands pressed her tight against him, her nipples feeling every crease in his shirt even through her bra. His lips were softer now, opening with a soft gasp as she ran her tongue over the seam, letting her pull the bottom one gently between her teeth. His hips jerked at the sensation, sliding her sex over his leg. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She groaned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He liked that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The moment after she made the noise he repeated the movement, once, twice, again. He pressed harder, his fingers digging against arse to pull her forward. The heat of him and the seam of her knickers created delicious friction between her legs. Their kisses were broken, stuttering through quick meetings and nips around panting breath and half-muffled sounds of pleasure. She could feel the hard length of him under his trousers, pressed in against her hipbone, a damp spot blossoming where the fabric touched the tip. If she shifted her hips just right, ground down into the cradle of Theo's hips...there. His breath hitched and her hips were moving, insistent, inexorable, searching over and over for the perfect pressure of the tip of his cock just over her clit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was fast and friction and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn't enough.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him and rocking insistently against him. He had one hand on her arse, urging her movement against him and as she pressed harder, he shifted the other up into her hair, tangling his fingers in the curls at the base of her neck with an iron grip. Sending tingles down her spine just as his cock pressed tight in against her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pleasure pulsed through her in sharp, hot throbs that she was sure he must be able to feel pressed so close against her, even through her knickers, even through his trousers. Her body felt stiff with it, her breath squeezed out of her by the fullness of the pleasure, as if there was no room for anything, not even her voice. It left her in a half strangled sob as she shuddered against him and his breath ruffled hot over her ear; wet warmth saturated the fabric pressed between them as he hissed, “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They lay tangled on the rug for a long while, catching their breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Theo was the first to move, grabbing his wand and casting gentle cleaning spells over them both before redressing in his formal robes. He conjured her a glass of water and helped her to her feet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione felt dazed. It was not a bad feeling at all, rather as if she had just woken up from a particularly vivid dream. Her lips were pleasantly swollen and her undergarments felt strangely askew. Theo was a perfect gentleman, holding her skirt for her to step into, but she couldn't look at him without seeing the heat in his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wondered if he wanted to do it again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I trust you have the contraception handled” he said, no note of judgment in his voice, just practicality. Even though he hadn’t been inside her, just the damp fabric of his breeches pressed tight against her, he considered the details. She could appreciate that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione nodded and he inclined his head gently before turning to the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I'm sorry,” she blurted out at his back, her face flaming and tender with embarrassment. “I mean, I'm sorry for all the grief I've been giving you. I'm still angry with you, but I shouldn't have acted like that. I can be vindictive. It's a personal failing. I will strive to be more professional in the future.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Theo's grin was wide and wicked and it made something flutter to life again low in her stomach. “You can be unprofessional with me all you want, Hermione. As long as next time I get to bend you over that desk.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>April 10, 2004</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neville didn't know what Theo Nott had done to end the feud he had going on with Hermione, but he was eternally grateful. The howlers had gotten more and more frequent and less respectful of the need for sleep, as winter came to an end. Then suddenly, they stopped. Hermione stopped stressing herself to the point of nausea, and the entire mood of the cottage lifted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it all came to pass just in time for planting season. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the best time of year for any gardener, only competing with harvest, which was tinged with the sadness of the coming winter. Neville had the school greenhouses and now one of his own, so he never really had to stop gardening, but working in a hot house was just not the same, especially for the standard fruits and veggies he was interested in growing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He'd started his seeds towards the beginning of March and now that his copy of the Herbologist's Almanac said the final frost had passed, it was time to plant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione?” he asked, tentatively knocking on her bedroom door. It wasn't normal for her to still be in bed by half eleven, but it was Saturday. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard a thump, followed by a softly muttered </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit </span>
  </em>
  <span>before she answered, “Yeah?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you aren't busy today I was hoping I could get your help out in the garden for a bit? I am going to plant today and I want to raise beds. I can do it on my own, but it will go ten times faster if you help with the wandwork for construction.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn't mind hauling and filling the dirt, but her motility spells were much better than his. She could construct beds out of the timber he'd bought in half the time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure!” she called, still sounding groggy. “Give me a bit and I'll meet you out there.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neville took advantage of the time to put on a pair of dungarees and a henley, carefully applying aloe to the sunburn that had already started at the back of his neck. Before he finished he heard the </span>
  <em>
    <span>whoosh </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the floo. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?” He poked his head out of his room but the only one he saw was Hermione, brushing something off a pair of dusty looking denims, looking startled. “Did you hear the floo?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes that was me, just letting Ginny know I would come by this evening since I slept through our brunch,” she said, voice high and face a little red. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked like she was lying, which was startling. Hermione was a decent liar, all things considered, but she'd never bothered much outside of the context of the war...but it wasn't Neville's business, so he left it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ahh. Well I'm ready if you are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn't need much instruction to get started. Neville had already laid out the plan with gravel to mark the walking spaces. One big bed for tomatoes and one for courgettes; one for potatoes and onions, and two full beds for strawberries. This was meant to be fun and he fully intended to grow exactly what he would eat. He knew that between him and Hermione, the strawberries would get eaten. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No magic Neville had ever seen could compare to Hermione working. She levitated the wood pieces into place, lifting them high over their heads with a flick of her wand. They spun and aligned with precise grace that he could have never managed. He wouldn't even have bothered using magic at all. His back was more reliable for this kind of work. Once they were settled, she joined them with permanent sticking charms and Neville finished the job, tossing in bags of compost from his excess at the school and churning it in with the sandy loam of the base soil with a simple stirring motion of his wand, slowly dragged upward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You'll have to teach me that spell,” Hermione said, beaming as she watched the earth mix itself. “I suppose that also gives you decent aeration?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded, already feeling the sweat beading at his hairline from the strain of the magic. “Better than traditional tilling or I wouldn't bother.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do prefer to work with your hands, don't you?” Her cheeks were plumped up with smiling and Neville couldn't bear to tell her it was because he just wasn't that proficient. A hair's breadth away from a squib unless you ratcheted up the pressure. “I can't remember the last time I saw you go a day without having to pick dirt out from under your fingernails.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At least I bother to do the picking.” He grinned, wiping his forehead on his shirt. “I love Pomona, but that woman would walk around with the stuff caked in her hands all day. That's all I needed help with, so if you wanted to head off to Grimmauld I can manage from here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shook her head. “No, I already told Ginny I wouldn't be there until dinner. I'd rather stay here and help with this. It's a lovely day.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They worked together putting in the seedlings. Strawberries in little pockets straight down a line, several courgettes onto two heaped up mounds with feet of space between them. The potatoes and onions were Neville’s favorite. He loved pushing down the little bulbs and eyes with his thumb into the dirt, but the tomatoes were already the stars of the garden. The little seedlings had taken to his fertilizer with gusto and they were already so tall they were starting to droop over. Hermione babied them, carefully shoring up the hairy stems by tucking the branches over the wire cage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they were done, she fetched a couple bottles of bubbly lemonade from the kitchen and he dragged out the kitchen chairs onto the little pad of broken bricks that served as a porch. They sat out under the sun and looked over the garden for a long while, neither of them bothering to strike up a conversation. The leaves of the seedlings waved gently in the spring breeze, the sweat on the back of his neck cooling as it blew dry. It was a perfect moment. New plants in the ground, the bright, sweet taste of lemons on his tongue, and Hermione next to him, content for what seemed like the first time in months. </span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
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